


There Are No Ordinary Days

by xikra1648



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Action, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, Bonding, British!Reader - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Crime Drama, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, For story reasons, Friendship, I made the character, I totally forgot to post thost tags, I'm so sorry, It's a CM fic, Mentoned Rape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Additional Warnings To Be Added As Necessary, Other additional characters to be added, Romance, Secret Past, Secrets, Slow Burn, Smut, Some parts are unrealistic, Sporadic Updates, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Team Bonding, We know the kind of crimes they investigate, White!Reader, and forgot those tags, and his specific type of woman, and started writing, based on her relation to a set character in the series, but stuff it, it's fun, mentioned molestation, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, overly involved friends, which is also a set aspect of the series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 66
Words: 162,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xikra1648/pseuds/xikra1648
Summary: Your tenure at MI6 was never going to be permanent, your dual-citizenship was supposed to be an escape plan in case your father's career came to haunt you, but things...changed.  A turn of events had landed you in the US, MI6 simply letting you go as a sort of...apology for what they'd put you through at such a young age, and your training within the FBI Academy was being streamlined as a result of the training you clearly already had.  An old friend pulled a few strings, more like talked to her boss, and landed you a position at the BAU, and then on your way to your first day you met a sweet man around your age in what had to be a scene pulled right out of a cliche romantic movie.Then you saw him in your new office and quickly remembered, with your life, there was no such thing as an ordinary day.





	1. Meet Cute...Ish

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been binge re-watching, and if any of you have read any of my other CM stuff you know I’m pretty much obsessed with the ‘Profiler with a super dark past’ thing, but anyone that’s read any of my stuff you know I like cliché romantic shit.
> 
> And now…this.
> 
> Also, I kinda felt like sharing this. I have a small notebook that says ‘There Are No Ordinary Days’ on the front, and I use it to scribble down ideas when I’m out of the house and can’t get to my laptop. That’s where the title came from.
> 
> Rea’s dad is also a set character within the series. Some people might be able to figure him out from this chapter, but meh. Anywho, this character also has a very specific type and already has a son, so there are specific parts off Rea’s appearance that just have to be set in stone. This is both because Rea’s father’s type is specifically Caucasian women with dark hair and eyes, and because part of the story involves Rea having some of her father’s features and sharing features with her little brother, and then there’s the whole scene where Rea first meets Spencer. That second reason won’t come up until later, but I felt like explaining that. I mean, nobody’s really cared that I added in those details for previous fics, but I still wanted to share that.
> 
> Another short detail. This is mostly for shits and giggles. It is actually possible to naturally have SUPER pale blonde hair. I know this cause I legit do. My mom’s basically the entire UK mixed with Russian, my dad’s German and Czech…my favorite joke is telling people that and then saying I’m the only white girl of their three daughters. It’s totally true, but it’s really funny watching people as their shock and ‘omg mom’s got some explaining to do’ shifts to them remembering that adoption is a thing XD

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Meet Cute...Ish

 

Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to bring this up, but then again it could be the best.  Obviously, you couldn’t be a _Senior_ Supervisory Special Agent.  You would be _fresh_ from the academy, your childhood training – and your childhood in general – was the entire reason you were allowed to skip forward to the rank of SSA at such a young age.  You’d been the youthful mistake of an international criminal Emily was responsible for putting away, and both you and your half brother had nowhere to go.  You’d been trained for your own _safety_ , especially when you secretly applied to a prestigious academy in London and been _accepted._

Your father, as much of a psychopath as he was, adored both you and your brother.  You were proud and determined to be accepted on a _scholarship_ despite the amount of money in your father’s… _clean_ bank account.  Then there was the fact you’d managed to get an accurate read on his public funds to begin with – something your father was both baffled and proud of himself.  So, you were allowed to go _as long as_ you agreed to be trained.

You’d been seventeen when you learned the full extent of your father’s crimes.  He didn’t want you to know, but you did your own investigation and figured it out.  You were preparing to leave for uni and you knew something just…wasn’t right.  You knew he was a criminal but…

You’d been the one to do the research and send his profile to Interpol, stepping into their headquarters in London and openly announcing your identity and that you had information for the agents investigating your father.  You were placed into custody, as to be expected, and then you not only gave them a – disturbingly accurate – profile, but described the _exact_ type of woman your father preferred.  Emily and Jacob helped you and your brother find homes in the US when all was said and done, but she could do nothing to deter you from law enforcement.

Emily figured…she might as well make sure you end up where you could do the most good.  With Strauss, and her own supervisors, leaving the BAU be Emily deemed it was safe enough to bring you up to Hotch.  With Gideon gone, they were already a man down, and officially there was no _maximum_ number of profilers limiting them.  Hotch had agreed to a _temporary_ agreement, Emily had opted for leaving the BAU entirely instead of playing politics and betraying the team, and he deemed it safe enough to give you a chance.

Emily had openly admitted to meeting you during her time at the CIA, so the fact that much of your file was redacted – much like Emily’s – wasn’t a surprise.  To be honest…most members of the BAU had _something_ in their file redacted.

 

********

 

This was probably the latest you’d ever slept in.  With your history, attending the academy was a _formality_ , only putting you through a handful of classes before giving you the oath, but during your time the academy you had to get up early enough to be awake and ready for classes and training at _six_ in the morning.  Now it was just a matter of how quickly you could get ready to grab some coffee before grabbing the metro to Quantico.  You were still used to getting up _freakishly_ early, though, and figured you might as well put some real effort into looking presentable for your _first day._   Granted, your tenure at the BAU was clearly a _temporary_ arrangement until SSA Hotchner decided otherwise, but you were still excited.  The BAU wasn’t only famous, but _notoriously_ selective.  It had been your dream for years and you were well-aware of the fact you’d have to prove yourself before you could even _apply_.  You hadn’t thought…Emily’s reference had surprised you.

You trusted her not just with your life but the life of your _loved ones_ , but you had _no idea_ she’d put her reputation at her job on the line.

You had to do her proud.  Even if you didn’t get the job, you had to do _that_ much.

 

********

 

It didn’t matter how often he had to get up early, Dr. Spencer Reid was _not_ a morning person.  The events of the last few weeks had only made that worse.

His usual morning routine was interrupted when he saw you standing outside and it was like the world just… _stopped._   You were holding a coffee cup – medium – from the very same shop he was heading to, a few locks of your long pale blonde hair pulled back into a braid while most of it just flowed freely down to where your ribs met your waist, your soft pink lips pulled into a smile as you spoke with the old woman running the flower stand.  You thanked her and told her you couldn’t take the flower for free, and you didn’t have any cash to pay for the flower, and the woman kept trying to insist you take the flower she’d pushed into your hand.

Reid was already rushed for time.  Any divergent from his usual routine and he would be late.  He was too wrapped up in that letter Gideon left for him, running it through his head in an attempt to find an answer.  He wasn’t the type to do this.  He didn’t even realize he was doing it…until it happened.  He just walked over, digging his wallet out of his pocket, looked at the cost of the orchids, and handed the stall owner the cash.  You looked up at him, understandably surprised, and stepped away to thank him privately.

“Thank you,” you smiled as you looked down at the orchid while brushing a few locks of hair behind your ear and looking back up, “I suppose this is yours.”

“Nuh – no, you keep it,” he insisted, taken aback both by his own actions and by your eyes, “She – she’s right.  It does match your eyes.”

The flower was a blue dendrobium orchid, at the center it was a vibrant blue that almost seemed it would glow in the dark and turned to a darker indigo towards the middle and edges of the flower.  It would be unnatural for your eyes to be those exact same shades, but they were as close as naturally possible with the darker ring around your iris’ bleeding inward to the bright cerulean blue.  Your eyes glistened as you smiled brightly, carefully moving the flower from your right hand to your left so you could rifle through your bag.

“Could you hold these?” you asked, Reid quietly taking the coffee and flower from your hand and watching quietly as you took out a small notebook – the words _‘There Are No Ordinary Days’_ adorning the front – and wrote something down on the outer corner of a page before ripping it out of the notebook.  You held the page out to him as you dropped the pen and notebook back into your bag and reached for your coffee and flower, “I will trade you those for this.”

Your name was scribbled onto the page in a rushed cursive that seemed to have its own artistic flair, along with your phone number.

He looked up from the note, his heart pounding hard enough he felt it in his ears and almost couldn’t breathe.  “I’m Spencer – uh – _Doctor_ Spencer Reid.”

“Phd or MD?”  You gave him a slight side-eye, but your little smile was enough proof you were just teasing.

“PhD – three, actually.”  This was normally where the questioning started, and then led to –

“Three?  That’s _amazing_.”  You smiled through your – genuine – awe and simply asked, “What are they in?”

“Chemistry, Math, and Engineering.”  Spencer was relaxing, his own smile and excitement showing as you weren’t reacting…at _all_ like most women did.  It’s not like the usual reaction was _bad_ , it was just…even at your age – you couldn’t be more than two or three years younger – the _nerd_ still wasn’t the _ideal type._

“So, basically, you’re really good at everything I’m bad at.”  You giggled a little, openly grinning, before your cell phone buzzed in your pocket.  Pulling it out you checked the message before cursing under your breath, “I’m so sorry, Spencer, I’d love to talk more, but it’s my first day at a new job, I moved here from Europe just for this job, and my friend put herself on the line for me.  But…call me?  Please?”

_Holy shit._

You were the vulnerable one in this situation…how did that…that wasn’t…you just _handed him_ your _real number_ …and…what…that…

_What?_

“Yeah – yeah, go ahead, I didn’t mean to hold you up.”  He really didn’t, if you had to go you had to go.

After you left, he looked down at the slip of paper in his hand once again.

_[Y/N] [L/N] 202-555-1648_

 

********

 

“Sorry, sorry I’m late, I had a – “  You began apologizing as you approached Emily at her desk, trying to explain before she noticed the flower.

“Where’d you get that flower?”  Leave it to Emily to have the eyes of a fucking _hawk_.

“Bit of a _meet cute_ situation,” you tried to explain, keeping your tone and gestures calm and precise to keep Emily from questioning the events, “I was asking a woman at a flower stand if she does bouquets and if I could order and pay on pickup, so I could give one to you as a _thank you_ , but then she started insisting that I take an orchid because it matches my eyes.  I didn’t have any cash to pay, and I wasn’t comfortable just _taking_ it, but then – “

“A guy showed up and paid for it because your life is a _really_ strange version of _Love Actually_.”  Emily gave you that _look._   Sure, as the closest thing you’d ever have to an older sister she was a bit jealous, but mostly she was concerned.  Both before and during her time at the BAU she experienced reasons to be _careful_.  She’d _been_ that person that tricked someone into a relationship just to betray them.  She just wanted – **_needed_** – to make sure you were being safe.

“I will tell you everything later, right now I need to meet SSA Hotchner.”

“Right, right, leave your stuff – and your _flower_ – at my desk until we get you one.  He’s right up the stairs, office to the left.  It’s best if you go alone.”

“Got it, and Emily?”

Emily looked right back up, having looked back down at her paperwork, both looking and sounding concerned as she asked, “Yeah?”

“Thanks, for everything.”

“Anytime,” Emily smiled wide and you heard the lilt of a chuckle in her voice, “Knock him dead.”

You skipped a few steps before striding with purpose towards the Unit Chief’s office, knocking and waiting until you heard his permission to step inside.

“Sir, I’m SSA [Y/N] L/N],” you politely, professionally, introduced yourself as you stepped towards Agent Hotchner’s desk as he stood up, shaking his hand when you were close enough, “It’s a pleasure, and thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“Just call me Hotch, please.”  He was just as professional as you expected, but he was kind and polite.  He was in a tough position.  People like him, people that _aren’t_ ruthless, don’t normally make their way to positions of real authority.  “Prentiss assured me you would be a good addition to the team, she went well out of her way to sell you.”

“I understand, and I know this is a temporary arrangement, but I will do everything possible to prove you are right to trust her.”  You were taking this seriously – _very_ seriously – and it didn’t take a profiler to see that.  That was reassuring to Hotch.  So often people are simply _used_ or just feel responsible to provide the _easy_ path for someone your age.  Clearly, that wasn’t the case this time.  You were determined, you were aware of the situation you were in, you were aware of the situation _Prentiss_ was in, and you took it _seriously_.

“I’ve looked over your file – “

“What parts of fit aren’t _redacted_ , anyway.”  You were fully aware that over half of your file was redacted.

Hotch nodded, a small – amused – smirk gracing his features for a fraction of a second before he agreed, “There’s enough there that I already have high expectations.”

“I understand, sir.”

You were disciplined for a 22-year-old.  That gave Hotch an idea of _why_ your file was heavily redacted, or at least _part_ of an idea, but he was still concerned.  It wasn’t your skill he doubted after looking over your file.  It was your ability to work in a _team._   It was the chance your past would come to complicate things.  For the moment, it looked like that wouldn’t be a problem, but only time would tell.

“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the two chairs across from his desk as he sat back down, grabbing a file from “There’s some paperwork we need to finish, but we can get it settled fairly quickly.”

“Great, where do we start?”

 

********

 

“ _Woah_.”

“ _Hey!”_   Reid reached out to snatch the slip of paper from Morgan, but it was too late.  It wouldn’t take _anyone_ long to notice what was written on it.

“You got a girl’s number _on your way here?”_ Morgan teased, like a proud older brother, as he handed the slip of paper back to the younger agent, “Way to go, pretty boy.  What’s she like?”

“What?  _No_ ,” Reid snatched the paper away from Morgan while attempting to avoid the topic by making a beeline to his desk, “I'm not...we - we're not having this conversation.”

“What’s going on?” Prentiss asked without looking up from the report she was finishing.  She had quickly grown used to the boys, to the point that it was evident just in her deadpan tone.

“Reid got a girl’s number.”

_That_ got her attention.  As Reid shot a half-hearted glare to Morgan, Prentiss turned in her seat to watch as Reid took the last few steps to his desk.

“What’s she like?”

“I dunno, she’s – she – “ Reid froze as he looked away from his friends to watch where he was going, other agents were commonly bustling around the bullpen, and froze.  “She’s in Hotch’s office…”

Prentiss _immediately_ snatched the offending slip of paper and looked at the name and number written on it.

“God _dammit_ [Y/N].”


	2. Your First Case, Trust Issues, and Awkward Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took about a week - a little less really - for your first case in the field. A girl kidnapped from the same mall as another girl who went missing, and was murdered almost immediately afterward, just the week before. As you all scrambled to find the young girl, your past began playing a bigger part in your life than you hoped it would.
> 
> At least your terrifying amount of trust issues were going to be good for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes for this chapter...YET.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Your First Case, Trust Issues, and Awkward Conversations

 

Your first case was a missing child, a young girl taken from a shopping mall.  The same mall where a young girl went missing before being murdered, all just the week before.  You were called in by the FBI Rapid Deployment team, which had already put the mall on lockdown and made sure it was impossible for Katie Jacobs – the missing girl – to have been taken from the mall.  There was no proof Katie was taken by the same offender that killed the last victim, but she _was_ the same age and taken at the same time of day from the same place.

Much of your skill as a profiler came from the fact you don’t trust _anyone._   You could always get along with people well enough, but your life burnt any ability to trust to a cinder.  You trusted Emily, your brother, your childhood Nany, and that was _it._   That trait hadn’t exactly become apparent during your first week at the BAU, but the hints were there.

As Katie’s mother pleaded for Katie’s safety over the mall speakers, Hotch was watching the crowd from his place on the second-floor balcony.  JJ and Garcia were helping Mrs. Jacobs in the security office.  You stood with Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid as you waited for whatever lead came from the announcement.  The dogs kept losing Katie’s scent due to the air vents pumping out air from nearby kitchens or the food court, and even if they weren’t there was no sitting around and waiting for them.  _You_ remained laser focused on Katie’s aunt, uncle, and cousin.

Her uncle was taking this _personally_.  It was like Katie’s disappearance hurt him just as deeply as it hurt her parents.  Her aunt seemed…distant.  That wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary, but she was the one that made the 911 call in the first place.

You spent most of your time paired with Emily, keeping you close to the aunt and uncle, but you split off when you heard the unsub had taken Katie’s necklace and thrown it into the trash.  You took off and asked to see it after JJ and Hotch had asked Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs about it, looking at the clasp.  It was broken, the necklace was ripped off, and an offender that was just grabbing Katie to fulfill a need wouldn’t care about the necklace.

“This was personal…” you spoke quietly as Hotch spoke with you, Morgan, and the head of the Rapid Deployment team, “Sir, I’d like to look into the aunt and uncle.  Read behaviors, listen to the 911 call, build profiles…it’s just a hunch, but it could explain why Jeremy is having such a severe reaction.  He doesn’t just feel responsible, he knows one of his parents has done something wrong but just accepting the idea they did it to Katie makes it even worse.  He isn’t a bad kid, he’s just rebellious.  Either way, Katie knew her offender and it’s someone she trusts enough to just _walk off_ with.”

“I’ll have Garcia get you a recording of the 911 call, talk to them and let me know what you find.  Morgan, take Reid to the Jacob’s home and see what you can find.”

It was a matter of _minutes_ before Reid and Morgan found something at the Jacob’s house that confirmed your suspicions.  Katie was wetting her bed, she cut her Barbie’s hair and drew on the doll’s face, and that 24-carat necklace wasn’t just _found_ like her parents were led to believe.

It was your hunch.  You were the one that suspected it first, the one that noticed those minute signs even before the necklace or the idea crossed anyone’s mind.  Yet, you decided to sit with Katie’s parents and her aunt Susan, all because of five words Susan said in her 911 call.

_“like that girl last week”_

Even the investigators were focused on what happened to the girl the week before, focused on making sure Katie wasn’t a victim of the same offender, that nobody thought twice about the parents being worried about it.  That was so… _bizarre._   Adults closest to the child don’t even consider other child victims when someone they love is kidnapped, not until investigators bring it up, so why did they seem to be so worried as early as the _911 call?_   Susan was calm, collected, more worried about her husband being questioned than her _son_ being questioned.  Then there was something else…

_“You’d think after all those years in retail I’d hate the mall, but it was convenient.”_

“Ma’am, may we speak in private?” you asked Susan Jacobs politely, big eyes and a kind face matched with long blonde hair came in handy, “You seem calm enough that I can ask you a few questions, maybe see if you can recall something that could help.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, she would inevitably be recalling something helpful, it wasn’t _entirely_ your fault you let her think you were going to be asking an entirely different set of questions.

“Yes, of course, anything that will help.”

“Thank you, I’ll find a room where we can speak privately.”  You got up and made your way over to Morgan and JJ to speak quietly, “I need to talk to Susan.  Where’s Katie’s doll?”

Hotch _had_ told you to look into the aunt and uncle, Morgan was _there_ , but he was a bit worried you took that as freedom to interrogate someone.  To be honest, he was a bit…baffled that you were allowed to follow leads on your own already.  You had graduated the academy, but your position was _temporary_ and you’d started roughly a _week_ ago.  Yeah, you had Prentiss’ word covering you, but that couldn’t be enough on its own.

“Why?”  He had to know.  He had to make sure.

“She was the first one to bring up the girl from last week, she’s more worried about her husband than her own son, she’s completely calm, and that necklace was _ripped_ off out of anger.  If Jeremy knows what his father was doing to Katie, there’s no way Susan _doesn’t_ know,” you reasoned, listing off the facts that just didn’t add up if Katie’s molester was also her kidnapper, “Right now they all just think I’ll be asking her routine questions, a cognitive interview.”

“I’ll make sure it stays that way,” JJ promised firmly with a nod, making her way over to Katie’s anxious parents as you and Morgan made a plan.

“We need the doll and the necklace.  I’ll have Susan looking to the door, I need you to be standing in front of it, both to take off and get Katie but also to show her she’s not leaving until she tells us everything.  Whatever I say in there, don’t interrupt.”  You laid out the plan, and Morgan was willing to listen.  You hadn’t said anything without explaining yourself before, it was safe to assume you’d be doing that this time.  “I know you probably don’t trust me yet, but I know what I’m doing.  All I ask is you give me a chance to prove it.”

“Alright, you got it,” Morgan agreed, borderline reluctantly, before making sure you knew one thing.  “If something goes wrong in there, I’m stepping in.”

“Understood.”

 

********

 

You waited until Susan was sitting down before dropping the evidence bag holding the necklace, and then sat down.

“Did you separate before or after you found out your husband is molesting Katie?”  You sat down calmly, keeping cool as you asked the question holding your head up and staring down the woman in front of you.  It was a sharp and calculating tone hadn’t thought you _capable_ of.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“There are faint tan lines on his forearms from Nicotine patches, he’s been placing them in the same spots for at least a month, but you were giving him an engraved lighter.  You don’t just _not_ notice someone you’re _living_ _with_ quit smoking,” you called her out, expression cold and flat as you continued, “And if Jeremy knew what his father is doing, I find it difficult to believe that you _don’t_.  It would explain why you’ve been so calm.  You’ve been planning this since you saw that girl went missing last week, at the very same mall you used to work at, it was just too convenient to pass up.  You even had everyone thinking these cases were connected, but all you cared about was the cause of your jealousy and target of your anger was _gone_.  Every single one of your problems was _gone_.  The cause of your husband’s _depravity_ was _gone_.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  She was shaken, she was scared, but most importantly her attempts to lie were failing.  Small quirks.  Cracks in her voice.

“Girls who play with dolls treat them, particularly their favorite, as an extension of themselves.  Looking at a girl’s favorite doll gives a crystal-clear image of how she sees herself.”  You held up the doll before placing it down, facing upwards, and you saw how Susan shook as she desperately avoided looking at the doll.  Good.  It was working.

“This was not supposed to happen to my family.”

“She trusted you.  She trusted your husband.  With her asthma, the stress she’s going through, the fact you had to have covered her mouth to keep her from screaming, there’s a high chance you’ve just killed a six-year-old victim of sexual assault, but I still can’t help but fear what your son will go through as well.  Without Katie, there’s no guarantee your in-laws will be willing to care for him.  Not when he’ll be a horrid reminder of what his parents did to the baby girl they just buried.”

That’s when it all clicked.  _That_ was what you were getting to.  You were shaking her up, breaking her down, and then reminding her she had a son who would be left to the mercy of Katie’s parents.  It’s not that things were going _bad_ , Morgan just wasn’t sure where you were going.  Your technique, it was nothing he’d even seen taught before, everything he knew pointed to it making the unsub clam up.

“You’ve protected a monster, you’ve potentially killed a child, and your actions have led Jeremy to have a panic attack when he’s being asked _routine_ questions as a child witness.  Don’t leave him alone in the world as well.  Where is Kate?”

Emily and Hotch had caught on, making their way down the hall to see how things were going, when Morgan threw the door open as he dashed towards them and down the hall.

“Seasonal storage, by the Christmas decorations!”  Hotch joined Morgan as they sped towards Katie, calling on the radio for help scouring the area as they left the hall and took the noise of the commotion with them, leaving only the sound of you reading Susan Jacobs her rights.

One hell of a first case…

 

********

 

It was late, raining, and you suddenly realized how exhausted you were after closing Susan Jacobs into the local squad car.  You stood back and watched as her husband was placed in an identical car while Katie Jacobs was taken to the ambulance, surrounded by EMT’s and her parents, and Jeremy stood cold and feeling alone even with both Reid and Morgan by his side.  Mr. Jacobs stopped to watch as his brother was put into a squad car, aghast and terrified he couldn’t see the greatest monster to fear was so close, and you couldn’t help but step over to him.

“No child is responsible for the sins of the father.”  You were almost wistful as you watched the squad cars drive off into the night, pulling your sweater tighter around your form as you searched for something to cling to for comfort.  “You’d think the daughter of a criminal would have an easier time remembering that…my little brother was terrified when father was arrested.”

Mr. Jacobs was quiet, looking towards his nephew before making his way over there.  You watched for a moment, smiling softly before turning to take your leave.  What you didn’t expect was someone had seen you just as you turned your gaze and began to leave.

“[L/N], wait up!”  You turned to see Reid jogging up to you, and you waited.  Things were a bit…neither of you had exactly talked about where things were going for the two of you.  You’d _thought_ about it, deciding it was too risky to start dating as it would drastically alter your position in a team you’d _just_ joined, but you hadn’t _said_ that.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow, but good work with Jeremy today.”  You smiled softly as you tucked your hands in the pockets of your sweater, the rain light enough that you weren’t in a rush to get out of it.

“Thanks, you too.”  He quickly returned the sentiment, changing the focus from himself to you, “Morgan said you led Susan Jacob’s interrogation.  That’s pretty impressive – because it was your first case.”

“It’s not like I’m still a trainee,” you teased lightly with a small chuckle in your voice, making light of the accomplishment.  You couldn’t _explain_ why it was nothing to you, but you could at least explain why it wasn’t anything special.  “I expressed my concern and Hotch told me to follow my gut.  After watching her all day it wasn’t hard to figure out how to approach her.”

“How did you?”  He was honestly curious.  All anyone knew about your career – besides Prentiss, who was sworn to secrecy as part of her previous tenure at the CIA – was your tenure at the FBI academy lasted about three months because of your time with _MI6._   There was no explanation as to why you moved to the states, how you ended up in MI6 as a teenager, who you worked with, what you did, or even your _family’s names._   All they _really_ knew was [Y/N] [L/N] wasn’t the name you were born with, you were 22 years old, your emergency contact was Emily Prentiss, and the British Secret Services seemed _apologetic_ in the way they just _let you go._

“Everyone becomes shaken when a friendly face becomes cold.  I used that to remind her what she had done, show her what Katie was going through, and then reminded her that Jeremy would be left to the mercy of Katie’s parents at the end of all this.”  You took a risk, you had just told a stranger about your father’s criminal history, you might as well tell people on your team.  “My father was a criminal and hurt a lot of people.  My brother and I were left at the mercy of people he’d hurt and…I knew if we found Katie dead Jeremy wouldn’t be as lucky.”

“I think he’ll be alright,” Reid offered, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walked with you, the two of you meandering back towards the black suburban.  You smiled in response, the two of you stopping in front of the car and waiting for Morgan as he settled a few things, he was the one with the keys.

“I get the feeling the way we met – the first time – was a bit…out of character for you.”  You had to talk about it eventually, best to do that sooner rather than later.  Reid hadn’t been expecting you to bring it up, but despite his surprise he seemed prepared, like he was thinking about the inevitable conversation himself.

“Yeah…it’s been a…strange few weeks…”

“Emily told me the gist of things, I completely understand, and honestly that impression was the reason I gave you my number in the first place.”  That was true.  If it had been Morgan, his practiced and suave nature would have been enough for you to walk away without so much as introducing yourself.  “I have…trust issues.  The... _smoother_ or more confidant someone is the less I trust them.”

“Really?  That’s unusual…” Reid quickly scrambled to his explain himself, rambling as he added, “Not that you have trust issues, that’s completely understandable, but that’s not normally – I’ve never gotten a girl’s number _because_ I’m awkward.  I never thought that would actually…it’s just…surprising I guess?”

You couldn’t help but smile and giggle a bit at Reid’s confession, but that didn’t completely eliminate the coming statement.

“Despite all that…I’m still new, and if I do stay on the team, I don’t think it would be good if part of my identity on the team was based on a romantic relationship.  Especially considering things might not work out.  I’m sorry but – “

“No, no I get it.  I was thinking the same thing, actually.”

“Good…good…”

Your hands were still tucked into your pockets and you looked down at the toes of your boots, lightly tapping the tip of your boot against the asphalt below before looking back up when you heard the jangle of keys as Morgan joined the two of you.

“I’m ready to get home and _sleep_ ,” Morgan admitted as he celebrated the fact the day had ended about as well as it could have, considering the circumstances.  Still, you couldn’t help but correct him.

“I think the word you’re looking for is _hibernate.”_


	3. Finding Your Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were bonding with the team rather quickly, quicker than Emily had expected, but you were still aware of the fact your position on the team was temporary - at least for the moment. A case in Texas was the one to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s no real planned ending for this tbh. Just thought I’d put up that warning. Basically, the plan is to make this is a slow burn.
> 
> A really slow burn.
> 
> A R E A L L Y S L O W B U R N

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Finding Your Place

 

After an impromptu girls’ night, which was really a cover to ask Garcia how things were going with Kevin Lynch, you found yourself quickly bonding with the other girls in the BAU.  You talked to each other about everything, Prentiss had helpfully spilled the _real_ story of how you’d met Reid, and you found yourself silently swearing to _never_ tell _anyone_ you’d pressed the flower to keep it.  You’d made that decision on a _whim_ , there was no way you were going to be able to _explain_ it, especially since the two of you could often be found chatting about similar interests during short breaks.

They all thought you’d be a cute couple but understood _why_ the two of you decided not to pursue anything – _thank fuck_ for that.

It was during one of these breaks, a late night for _everyone_ in the office, where Emily had decided to take her role as the older sister very seriously.  Specifically, her role in _teasing_ you.  Everyone had decided on takeout, as everyone was stuck late trying to catch up on reports as a direct result of the last case, and Garcia had decided to stick around for moral support.  She was sharing a video of a friend’s baby she had babysat over the weekend, and that was when the question came up.

“I wonder how old you are when you’re not able to put both legs behind your head anymore,” JJ wondered aloud as she watched the video on Garcia’s laptop once again.

“I know it’s not 22, right [Y/N]?” Emily mused as she mixed her fried rice around with the chopsticks in her hand before looking up at you with a teasing smirk.  You’d completely frozen for just a moment, spring roll in hand, as everyone’s eyes turned towards you.

Thank _god_ Rossi had gone home and Hotch was working in his office.  It was bad enough with everyone else there.  If the two senior agents had been there you would have _promptly_ stabbed yourself with a chopstick just to change the subject.

Not literally…but it was definitely on the list of things you’d rather do than have this conversation.

“You can still do that?” JJ was the first to speak up.  Emily’s teasing smirk spread to her eyes as shock subsided and reactions began to settle in.  Morgan was just barely hiding his gleeful giggles behind his grin, Garcia seemed to have put together the pieces of previous conversations, and poor Reid wasn’t quite sure _what_ to do with the information at that _exact_ moment.

Just because Emily, JJ, and Garcia _understood_ why you and Reid agreed not to pursue a more serious relationship didn’t mean the three weren’t going to plant the seeds for something to grow later on.

“That explains the shower thing…” Garcia put the pieces together, clearly remembering a conversation you’d had with her and JJ regarding the reality of having sex in the shower.  Both Garcia and JJ had agreed it was a better idea in _theory_ , but then you’d jumped in and advised it was all about positioning, logistics, calculating the available space, and at least one party’s flexibility.  Of course, Garcia’s exact words didn’t portray that, so Morgan decided to jump in himself.

“Baby girl, you steppin out on me?”  He feigned hurt, his grin having waned to a smirk while remaining just as amused as before.  He sat back in his seat and turned so he could watch how you, specifically, reacted during the conversation.  He’d been cautious of you before, but after finding your file and seeing just how much of it was redacted…it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be completely honest, that much was clear, it was that there were things you simply _couldn’t_ tell _anyone._   That was a different story.  He was still concerned about your past, but that concern had changed from a potential cause of distrust to kindling for a brotherly concern.  You, like Garcia and Reid, were a young and gifted individual brought into the BAU because you have the natural skills and abilities needed to look into the abyss, into the darkest places of humanity, and the bureau wasn’t in a place to deny you that spot when you reached for it.

“Of course not, baby, but you gotta listen to someone who knows the keys to pulling off _shower sex_.”

“It’s really not as hard as it sounds.  There are a lot of details, but figuring it out is fairly simple,” Reid jumped in, an attempt to save you as you started to sulk in an attempt to fall under the table and hide, and he didn’t calculate the exact response that would follow, “It’s mostly about the size and shape of the shower, then you can figure out positioning.  It would be easier if at least one party is more flexible, but it’s not _necessary_.”

It was when he saw the looks he was getting, particularly the equally stunned and terrified look on your face, when Reid realized he had hurt more than helped.

“Well, well, pretty boy,” Morgan teased as he let loose a few of the snickers he was holding back, “There something you and pretty girl wanna tell us?”

_Well...  
_

That didn't go as planned...

 

********

 

After the last case in California…things had gotten difficult.

Reid was _so sure_ he would be able to talk Vaughn down.  His daughter was safe, the rest of the team was on their way, the teenage boy who had coerced his friends into kidnapping two girls and murdering one of them was cowering in a corner after being shot in the leg.  Reid had talked people down in more precarious situations…but he couldn’t this time.  Ever since…

For months he’d been fine, he’d been _clean_ with not even the slightest craving, but that one event changed everything.

He couldn’t look for a program at work, which narrowed down the amount of time he’d be able to look, and there were just nights he didn’t have the energy to deal with the reminder that he had a problem.  He couldn’t tell if you knew or if it was coincidence, if he didn’t know better he might even think it was _divine intervention_ , but you always seemed to be seeking company on those nights.  Company for things literally _nobody else_ on the team would be interested in, mostly catching up on whatever documentaries or episodes of _Dr. Who_ you’d recorded and only recently had time to watch.  One weekend you wanted to binge all three _Lord of the Rings_ movies but hated being reminded you were _obnoxiously_ alone if your only company was your cat.  That was what you _said_ anyway.  Reid had his doubts…but to be honest he couldn’t tell.

As a profiler he’d learned to read people and noticed even the most minute details, but you seemed to be an exception to that.  He sort of…appreciated that.  Profiling became second nature over the years, Reid found himself profiling people without even thinking about it, but that just wasn’t possible with you.  He had to learn to trust and get to know you _naturally_ , like _normal_ people do, and it was a much welcome change to have that in his life.  Especially with someone who knew _exactly_ what kind of cases and people he had to deal with on a regular basis.

It was a shame a relationship just wasn’t an option for the two of you, but it had given rise to something so much better, something precious that Reid just couldn’t risk losing that.

He was sort of left believing it was coincidence you invited him over on particularly dangerous nights.  If you really did know you wouldn’t have asked if he was busy the night of his first meeting.  He honestly…couldn’t tell…

There wasn’t any time to _really_ think about it.  An explosion took out the home of Rod Norris and his daughter – Jordan – and a second wave took out the two deputies responding to the explosion.  It seemed like a traditional terrorism tactic, an initial attack followed by a secondary attack aimed at first-responders, and the DHS had put out a terrorism alert, but you and Morgan had yet to be convinced.  The attack was a civilian living in the middle of nowhere, in the small town of _West Bune, Texas._   It was clearly a strange case, whether it was terrorism or not the locals needed the team to help out, but _terrorism_ just didn’t fit.

You found solid answers when you got to the crime scene.  JJ returned to the Sherriff’s office with all the local law enforcement – save for the Sheriff himself – so she could brief them, Reid examined the remains of the house with Prentiss and Rossi, and you looked at the scene of the shooting with Hotch and Morgan.  Whoever set the explosion knew that Rod Norris would be smoking when he returned home, and used that knowledge in setting the explosion.  The unsub also shot Savage in the face despite knowing he was already dead while completely ignoring Letts who was still alive at that time. 

It was all personal, and there was one key suspect connected to both the Norris home and Lou Savage.

 _Owen_ Savage, Lou’s son and Jordan’s boyfriend.

The Sheriff took you, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid to the Savage house, and the first thing that hit you was how _barren_ the place was.  Just barely pictures, barely any décor at all, the _gun safe_ seemed to be the central focus in the living room, the only things hanging on the wall were memories of Lou Savage’s career as a Marine.  This was hardly a healthy environment for a teenage boy, especially one who lost his mother.

“How long did you know Lou Savage?” Hotch asked as you all filtered into the home, spreading out to look at the little details and begin building a profile on both Lou and his son.  The only way to figure out why Owen wanted to kill his father meant profiling both victim and unsub.  Hell, even if Owen wasn’t the unsub you needed at least a working profile on Lou.

“My whole life,” the sheriff answered, stern and keeping himself together by focusing on catching whoever was responsible, but he was clearly uncomfortable.  He was still transitioning from the DHS terror alert to the idea that the attack was personal, let alone the fact that Owen was officially a target for the deaths of his own father and girlfriend.

“And Deputy Savage’s wife?”

The Sheriff didn’t know where this was going and he wasn’t sure he liked it.  His request for help was based on the DHS raising the terror alert.  Now that the BAU team denied it was terrorism he wasn’t sold on profiling…or maybe he wasn’t sold on it in the first place.

“How did she die?”

“Drunk driver in ’02, Lou was in Afghanistan.  Owen lived with us until he got back.”

You didn’t know enough to guarantee it yet, but you had the feeling the Sheriff might be in danger as well.  You just continued walking around the room, hands tucked into the back pockets of your jeans, hearing Reid mutter _‘Semper Fi’_ under his breath as he checked for dust along the top of Deputy Savage’s Marine Corps photo.  Something had been bothering him for a while, and it looked like he was reaching a breaking point.  You couldn’t say you knew what it was, and you’d done what you could to help, but you’d only known each other a few months. 

Being fast friends could only do so much.

“How long was Lou Savage in the Marines?”  Morgan was caught by the barren walls as well.  Honestly, everyone was.

“Twelve years.  He was discharged so he could raise Owen.”

Reid jumped on that before you had the chance.  Things like this needed to be approached delicately, that was something you’d learned even before your short tenure helping MI6, but Reid was absolutely unrepentant as he asked, “Is that why he resented them?”

“Pardon me?”

“With all due respect, there are no photographs of either Owen or Hope.  The trophies all belong to Lou, everything on the walls are dedicated to Lou’s service, everything is kept militaristically clean at right angles, compared to a civilian home it would be considered barren.  Being a Marine clearly meant everything to Deputy Savage, he was immensely proud of his service,” you jumped in quickly, your voice gentle and your words carefully chosen, “I understand nothing about the Savage’s lives are traditional, but it’s not the kind of environment you normally find a teenage boy living in.  By the very nature of their stage of life, healthy teenagers bring chaos and disorder wherever they go, but this looks more like military barracks than anything else.  I understand not keeping photographs of Hope, it’s not uncommon for family members to hide away any signs of the deceased, but there’s no sign of Owen anywhere.”

“Hope was the drunk driver,” the Sheriff shared after a heavy sigh, you’d been able to talk him down into further explaining the state of things, “I didn’t write it up that way but, it didn’t matter.  Her drinking was no secret in town.”

Looking over the days your time at the BAU was still considered _temporary_ , this was the moment Hotch decided the risks posed by your youth and hidden past were worth your skills.  It wasn’t your prowess with a firearm, four shots grouped tightly enough to create one large hole in the target, your intensive training in close combat, a perfect score and infamy caused by successfully neutralizing the instructor on your first day of training, or even your clearances with advanced weaponry – including a sniper rifle.  It wasn’t even the fact you knew how to use your appearance to put people at ease around you. 

It was your ability to read people, calculate the situation, and adapt your tone and language as necessary.

“Where’s Owen’s room?” Reid questioned, subconsciously taking himself out of the equation as he turned his focus on finding answers about Owen.  It was clear you’d gathered everything you could about him from the rest of the house, even if you’d only been in the living room.

“Right over there,” the Sheriff pointed towards Owen’s room, nodding towards the gun safe as Reid made a beeline to the teenager’s bedroom, “There’s your gun safe.  I don’t know the combination.”

“Start with birthdays – Lou’s, Owen’s, Hope’s.”  Hotch handed the Sheriff the file he was looking over as everyone split up to look over the house in more detail.  That suggestion only lasted a few seconds, as Morgan reemerged from Lou’s bedroom carrying the deceased man’s dress blues still pressed and neatly tucked in plastic.

“Dress blues in plastic, no pics of wife and son,” Morgan summed up the most important things he’d noticed about the bedroom, the quick observations that could tell _chapters_ of what the team needed to know.

“No luck.”  The Sheriff had gone through all three birthdays and none of them had worked on the gun safe.  That figured.  Focusing on the birthdays was a long shot anyway.  It was too predictable, a cop would know better, and those dates weren’t important enough to memorialize like that anyway.

“Try 11-10-75.”

It was a _very_ specific suggestion, so you looked up from the neatly stacked pile of mail on the kitchen table to wait for Hotch’s explanation.

“November 10th, 1975?  What’s that?”  Morgan was just as curious, you expected that.

“1775.  Marine Corps. Birthday.”

It worked.  The gun safe was empty, and Owen knew how to use every single one of those guns.

_Go figure._

 

********

 

Computer was password encrypted, curtains drawn over the window to keep the room dark, posters of Johnny Cash hung over the computer, posters of dark images, the small lamp on the computer desk seemed to be the only one getting regular use, a poster of James Dean’s car after the crash, dark shades everywhere he could manage.  The entire profile was tacked on the walls, somewhere, even Owen’s taste of music and books were telling considering his circumstances.

You’d stayed with Hotch and the Sheriff as you checked the rest of the house while Morgan made his way down the hall to join Reid in Owen’s bedroom.  Morgan hadn’t missed Reid’s mood either, it was hard to miss, and while something had clearly already been bothering him there was something about the _case_ that set him off.  His response to finding out the gun safe was empty was a sardonic _‘that’s a surprise.’_

“That’s James Dean’s Porsche,” Morgan observed, looking at the poster as he started getting a look of the room himself, “No pics of James Dean though, that’s a bad sign.”

“Especially when your mother died in a car accident.”  Reid was right, an enlarged picture of a deadly crash was bad enough, but it was _very_ concerning for a boy who’d lost his mother to a car crash at 12.  Reid stepped away to keep looking around the room, looking at the finer details now that he’d looked around without touching anything.  “Still haven’t found the _father of the year_ award.”

There was no missing that tone, but Morgan let it go for the time being as he remained focused.  “You already check his computer?”

“It’s password encrypted,” the younger agent answered before looking through the decorations, CDs, and books on the short set of bookshelves.

“Well, smart move if you’re dad’s a cop.”  Morgan inwardly kicked himself.  Owen was smart, organized, that much was obvious based on how he’d set up the attack the night before.  It was clear that Owen felt like an outsider, but it wasn’t clear why he’d kill his girlfriend or her father.  Killing Jordon by herself would fit one profile, killing Rod by himself would fit another, killing Lou could fit into either one, but all together it didn’t make much sense.

“Ah, assuming he cares enough to snoop.”  Reid just wasn’t letting it go.

“Hey Reid, check yourself,” Morgan snapped like an older brother trying to talk some sense to a younger brother.  This wasn’t the time or place for that, not now.  “That Sheriff out there wanted to take your head off, and I think Hotch might have let him if [Y/N] didn’t step in.”

Reid didn’t respond, just made his way over to the closet.  The inside of the door was painted black, even the mirror was painted over, and every bit of clothing was black.

“All his clothes are black,” Morgan brought up as he kept rifling through the drawers.

“Same here.”

“Just like his friend Johnny Cash,” Morgan connected as his attention was brought back to the poster hanging from the curtains covering the window behind the computer desk.  It was such an odd placement.  There were other places, open spots on the wall, but that one picture was obviously important, “So, Owen identifies with being the misunderstood loner.  You know, I wish all our unsubs would just tack their profiles on their walls like this for us.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Reid argued, stepping away from the closet, “What, you grew up in Chicago, a high school jock, you had pictures of…Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan all over your walls, trophies everywhere?”

“Yeah, but you forgot Walter Payton,” Morgan retorted lightly, a failed attempt to try and quell whatever was bothering Reid on a personal level, “Not to mention the sexy ladies of the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issues.”

“Please tell me that has nothing to do with the case, because I _really_ don’t want to know why you’re discussing what is easily the most sickening form of misogyny within the sports community.”  Your voice caught them by surprise, causing the other two agents to snap their attention to you like deer caught in headlights for a moment before looking towards each other as they tried to decide if you _really_ needed to know about the conversation that you’d walked in on the tail end of.

“Not – not really.”

“ _Nope._ ”

“ _Good."_


	4. Equal Parts Victim And Unsub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cases like this were never easy, when the world seemed determined to turn a teenage victim of bullying into someone the BAU had to track down and arrest. That is, if the town let you bring him in peacefully. They were entirely unrepentant in their actions and attitude towards Owen and wanted to lynch the boy. To add to troubles, Reid was growing more and more agitated by the situation by the second, and Owen had taken his girlfriend and faked her death without telling her anything about his plans for vengeance.
> 
> Back in England, there was a sort of cliche idea about small towns in southern America, but you'd all thought it was nothing more than a wildly inaccurate stereotype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact time! It is true that some people have messy handwriting, occasionally leave out words when writing or typing, or deal with a lot of typos because they think faster than they can write/type.
> 
> Also, people move an average of 11.4 times in their life, but the average number of houses people OWN in a lifetime was five around 2009.
> 
> I’ll also admit I was SERIOUSLY tempted to have Spence talk to Rea about the bullying he went through in high school, but I opted out for a few reasons. The biggest one was that they just haven’t known each other that long. Like, just barely longer than Rossi has been back in the BAU. Then there’s the fact that Spence just isn’t that big on talking about that problems, he really prefers to keep them to himself and deal with it himself – as best illustrated in season 4 when he’s having reoccurring dreams and Morgan and Rossi have to almost strongarm him into accepting help and later in season 6 when he doesn’t tell anyone about his migraines or the hallucinations he’d had at the beginning of the season until towards the end of the season.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Equal Parts Victim and Unsub

 

Owen didn’t just see himself as the misunderstood loner, he also didn’t like his own appearance – hence the mirror painted black – and things were getting worse by the minute.  Deputy Letts’ wife referred to Owen as a ‘freak,’ insisting the Sheriff find Owen and – in layman’s terms – _lynch_ the boy.  Owen’s car was found on the interstate by yet another victim, and his truck was completely cleaned out.  Then there was the victim, Kyle, who was shot point-blank in the face.  Kyle was a few years older than Owen, they likely knew each other from school, and Owen was just as mad at Kyle as he was at his own father.  Then there was the fact that Owen had taken perishables from the convenience store he’d robbed, meaning he wasn’t heading out of town and the Texas Rangers’ road blocks wouldn’t help _at all_ , and the body previously believed to be Jordan was really just some hams and some bone-end ribeyes stuffed into some of Jordan’s clothes.

Jordan was either part of it or – and more likely due to her learning disability – completely unaware of what was going on.

You stayed at the Savage home looking over Owen’s room while Hotch took Reid to the local high school to ask some questions.  It seemed like the safest option at the time, keeping a close eye on Reid considering the recent turn of events, but it wasn’t exactly working out that way.

“I was talking about how I decorated my room.”  Morgan broke the silence, feeling like he had to explain just what he was talking about when you’d walked into Owen’s room.  You looked up from looking through the second dresser, your eyes wide and just _slightly_ judgmental as you waited for further explanation.

“When you walked in, I was talking about what my room looked like as a teenager,” Morgan clarified, simultaneously looking around the room for any hint of Owen’s computer password, “Sports posters, trophies, and – “

“I heard the last bit, but I’ll admit you’ve redeemed yourself,” your tone was flat and critical, but there was a spark of mischief in your eyes as you turned back to looking through the things stashed in the drawers, “ _For now.”_

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s hear how you decorated _your_ room,” Morgan chuckled teasingly, waiting for you to admit to something you’d liked as a teenager that was less than savory.

“Mostly books, notebooks, sketchbooks scattered all over the place.  I did have an easel and some paints, but that was about it.  I didn’t really decorate my room much.”  It was true, and you could _feel_ the way Morgan immediately snapped his attention from investigating the room and building a profile and to your rather odd confession.  So, you decided you needed to explain why it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded.  “By the time I was a teenager I was going to boarding school, and they were strict about how we decorated our rooms.  When I was home it wasn’t for too long and I was too busy catching up with family and friends that I just didn’t have time to bother with decorating.”

“Sketchbooks and an easel though?”  Morgan honestly hadn’t known that, it had taken him by surprise.  He knew you liked to read, you always had at least _one_ book with you at all times, but there were no signs you’d like art too.

“It started with doodling on exams after I’d finished and spread from there.  I went to uni for art, published a few poems and short stories in a school journal, but it doesn’t really help in the field so I don’t get to show it off much.”  You honestly believed it really wasn’t much.  You’d never – not once – thought you could do anything with your artistic studies.  It was just a hobby, a degree you could get quickly and comparatively easily because it was a personal interest, you never though anything of it.

“That’s still impressive, care to share some of your stuff when we get back?”

“Sure, um…”  You felt the blush on your cheeks as you realized this was the first person on the team – besides Emily – that had any clue you had any real interest in art.  Reid probably put it together based on the décor of your apartment, but he hadn’t said anything.  You just opted for changing the topic.  “Any luck with that password?”

“No, nothing’s working, you got any ideas?”  Morgan turned back to the computer, trying _Johnny Cash_ and still getting nowhere just before he cursed under his breath.

“The average person keeps the inspiration for their password within the immediate area of their computer, something reachable and at eye-level.  The desk is mostly blank, and I’m guessing you’ve tried Johnny Cash, so it’s likely something to do with his mother…and look, it’s focused on the necklace,” you pointed out the screensaver featuring Hope Savage, leaning forward, over Morgan’s shoulder, as you examined picture displayed behind the window requesting the password.  Morgan practically launched himself forward once again to type _hope_ into the text box and giving the two of you access to the computer.

“Okay,” Morgan sat back once again as the two of you looked at the screen, looking over the icons as you decided where to look first.  There was nothing truly significant, so you took a stab at an idea.

“He encrypted his computer and he’s not stupid.  Whatever motivated all of this will likely be in an unnamed folder tucked somewhere in _My Documents_.  He’ll keep it there, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know it exists.”

You were right…but the content of the video…

“I think we just found his motivation.”

 

********

 

Small public schools in small towns didn’t have resources.  They could help gifted and average students, they had _one_ teacher who could teach challenged students, but anything in the middle ground – where most teenagers with learning disabilities happened to be – was an issue completely overlooked.  Owen was very intelligent, he had nearly perfect scores in math and science, but his struggles in English and history were typical of a student that struggled with reading comprehension, and his issues in geometry were typical of a student that struggled with spatial relations – something only confirmed by his _handwriting._   Spencer wasn’t exactly on to talk – his own handwriting a mess due to the fact he thought _far_ faster than _anyone_ could write – but Owen’s handwriting wasn’t just sloppy, but the words seemed to blend together, spaces were missing between some words, it was a disaster.

Owen was likely the smartest kid in class, he just had learning disabilities that needed to be addressed, but because his _standardized tests_ didn’t support those kinds of findings he was left to scramble on his own and struggle with his hand-eye coordination.  He likely didn’t like sports, but he still attempted wrestling his freshman year because his _father_ was a jock and it would appease him.

Owen didn’t even last the rest of the _semester_.

“He was probably the smartest kid in class, but couldn’t prove it.”  Reid kept his voice down, the principal was on the phone but still in the office, “Being the smartest kid in class is like being the only kid in class…he missed all of it.”

“But schools like this can’t meet the specialized needs of every student, you know this.”  Hotch liked that fact just as much as Reid did, but something about this was _personal_ to the genius.  He was making jumps and conclusions without waiting for all the information, conclusions that were admittedly likely correct, but it was _wildly_ out of character.

“He gives it _everything_ he’s got only to fail over and over and over again, and continues to fail, and the _whole time,_ the whole time they tell him it’s his fault,” Reid pointed out, stressing the situation Owen was put in, “I mean, it makes _sense._ ”

“No, it doesn’t.  An undiagnosed learning disability does not add up to this level of violence.”  If it did, at _least_ a quarter of all teenagers in the US would be rising up in a riot and the entire team was well aware of that, “Not without _severe_ emotional abuse, you know that.”

As if on que, from your location in Owen’s room, you paced as you called Hotch’s cell to give him an update on the phone.

“You got something?”

 _“Not much, only the trigger to all of this.,”_ you answered on the other side, your tone hiding your own anger and discomfort at what you and Morgan had found, _“Morgan is sending it to you now.”_

Prentiss and JJ were down the hall talking to a girl named Eileen, Jordan’s best friend, about Jordan.  With recent revelations, they needed to know if Jordan would be part of that or not.  It didn’t look like it, but there was also the chance Eileen could tell them something that could help figure out why Owen was doing all of this.  She’d have an opinion of Jordan’s father that would be shared by either Jordan or Owen, or at least give light into how _they_ felt about him.

“He thought she was dumb, and she _wasn’t,”_ Eileen spoke as if Jordan was dead, enough proof that she wasn’t part of it, but she was also quick to defend her friend, “She’d get the answer if you gave her time, but he never did.”

“Did he ever hit her?” JJ asked, a crucial question at this point.  If Jordan _was_ part of this, she would want revenge for the pain.  If she _wasn’t_ , Owen was acting out of a protective instinct.  Nobody was talking about Jordan being abused, but in small towns like this that wasn’t going to happen – a point proved when Eileen nodded.

“She thought she deserved it, at least ‘till Owen came along.”  A picture was coming together as Eileen – thankfully – gave the agents an unbiased story from the teenagers’ perspective.  She wasn’t protecting the victims just because they were dead, she wasn’t protecting the teenagers because they were teenagers, she was just being honest.

“Were they in love?”  Prentiss wasn’t sure if she really believed teenagers could be _in love_.  Not because it was too complicated an idea, not because they weren’t capable of love – she’d seen teenagers capable of great amounts of love and kindness anyone short of a _saint_ could never match – but because most teenagers are left to confuse lust for love that she never came across an example that gave her a clear-cut answer.  She likely never would, it was a _lot_ to ask and she knew that, so she remained undecided.  Besides, what _really_ mattered was what _they_ thought, not what _she_ thought.

“Oh, yes ma’am,” Eileen seemed to believe Jordan and Owen were _deeply_ in love, “I thought she was gonna die when her dad took her phone away.  She didn’t have a computer, so Owen bought her a PDA for e-mail.  He paid the bill and everything, and set it up so that it wouldn’t ring unless it was Owen or me.”

“Owen took care of her,” Prentiss confirmed, it was a crucial part of the building profile.  One that pointed to Jordan being innocent in all of this.

“He tried.  Whenever anyone said anything bad about her, he’d stick up for her.  Always.”

“What would people say about her?”  JJ was growing more concerned for Jordan.  If she was unwitting in all of this, what would happen when she found out?  They still didn’t have a good grasp on how Owen would react to that.  It was looking like he wouldn’t react violently, he would be angry, but he wouldn’t hurt her, the problem was the team had thought that before and been wrong.

“Um…when Jordan was a freshman, there was a senior who took advantage of her.  He told everyone about it.  That’s how she and I became friends, I thought she needed someone to look out for her.”

That was enough of an answer.

“I guess I didn’t do a very good job…”

“You’re wrong,” Prentiss offered, the teenage girl immediately looking up at the agent, “She’s lucky to have you as a friend, Eileen.”

It was a last-minute question that explained why Owen was doing all of this.

“Do you know anything about Kyle Borden?”

“Kyle was the senior who took advantage of Jordan.”

_This was all about vengeance._

 

 

********

 

That video wasn’t evidence of hazing, it wasn’t bullying, what those boys did to Owen was – at the very least – _sexual harassment._   He didn’t know he was being recorded and he was being goaded into masturbating in front of the rest of the wrestling team because they told him it was ‘tradition’ and ‘they’d all done it.’  It was _disgusting_ and the school did _nothing_ about it.  Defended themselves behind the age old ‘cyberbullying is a hot-button issue’ and ‘news crews would be here’ with a dash of ‘we immediately took it off the school website’ and ‘it would be on the news and that wouldn’t help Owen.’  To top things off, Lou’s particular brand of _Father Of The Year_ approach lead him to blame his own son for it, and the only attempt at consoling Owen was telling him that ‘dealing with bullies is part of growing up.’

It was all the classic ingredients for turning a teenager into a school shooter.

With the bullies currently missing, no maternal presence, Jordan missing, and Lou Savage dead Owen’s computer was the only hint at tracking him down.  Everything _but_ the mpeg was deleted, but you and Garcia were working through trying to recover everything.  You’d grabbed one of the field laptops from the black suburban outside and hooked it up to the computer.  Between Garcia’s tech wizardry – you didn’t know what else to call it – and a few tricks you’d picked up during your time at MI6 – you openly admitted to them and just gave Morgan a _look_ when he asked what you were doing in MI6 – the two of you would be able to get _something._   Or…you’d be able to get the software version of a heavily encrypted and condensed bundle of needles Garcia would have to filter through to find that one all-important needle.

You’d help where you could, but she was _far_ better at quickly filtering through and examining software.  Your old tricks weren’t nearly as deft.  The times you had to hack into a computer you had to work fast.  You were sneaking or shooting your way in, hacking in until you could plug in a USB with a virus that cloned everything on the computer so the _actual_ techs back at the office could go through it or planting a bug within the software, then you were sneaking or fighting your way back out.  It was indelicate, it was borderline desperate, and there was no point to it.  You’d do what you could to help, but that wasn’t why you were there.

As far as anyone knew at that moment, you were the best chance at talking Owen down.  You were getting closer, but if nobody talked him down then Jordan – clearly an innocent in all of this – was going to get hurt.  Once you found something you had to get moving _immediately_ , there just wasn’t time for someone to call you, and the best chance at finding Owen was in his room.

You felt you were getting close when Owen posted an mpeg, the three wrestlers he’d identified as his bullies stripped to their underwear and kneeling with their hands behind their heads.  Owen’s voice was heard, but he wasn’t seen, and he’d moved the camera aside just enough so you could see the splash of the bullets hitting the water but not see the other boys being shot.  The Johnny Cash song playing in the background was _specifically_ and _explicitly_ about a man taking revenge, enacting vengeance, and you had to find anyone else on his list if there was any hope of finding him.

“Focus, Penny,” you reminded as you spoke with her over speakerphone, using a nickname she’d _quickly_ let you call her.  It wasn’t just wildly uncommon for people to call her that, but she had actively told people _not_ to call her that until you came along.  It was your accent that made the difference, reminded her of the phrase _Penny Dreadful_ , short stories featured in newspapers or sold on the corner for a penny in the 1800’s and were _wildly_ popular in England – as evidenced by the _Sherlock Holmes_ series and London’s inability to accept the fictional detective’s death at the end of _The Reichenbach Fall_.  Stories with a darker tone that commonly featured a main character fighting for _justice_ , righting wrongs, and your specific use of the nickname reminded the technical analyst that’s what _she_ was.

_“Right, right, focus…I’ve started on restoring his e-mails first.  I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got something.  Till next we speak, my pretties.”_

“I’m never going to get used to that, and I kinda love it,” you admitted with a smile as you tucked your phone back into your back pocket, chuckling with Morgan at Garcia’s farewell before she ended the call, “Then again, _everyone_ I’ve met in the BAU is a bit _odd._ ”

“Right, cause _you’re_ completely normal.  A 22-year-old British FBI Profiler with a history in MI6 and a file that’s redacted everything but her name and birthday.”  Morgan was teasing, that much was obvious by how he looked up from going through a few of the books on Owen’s bookshelf and shot you a crooked smile before he added, “And there’s that whole _artist_ thing.”

“Says the single and childless man who owns _four_ properties at _once_ when most Americans only buy _five_ in a _lifetime_ ,” you stood up from leaning over your laptop to look back towards the older agent and tease him, “And then, of course, there’s that whole karaoke and dancing thing.”

Morgan wasn’t even going to ask how you knew about that last bit, laughing as he just settled for requesting one thing, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Oh, my dear Derek, you have no idea,” you laughed yourself patting the _much_ larger agent on the arm as you made your way towards the door to get some fresh air and make a few calls in relative privacy, turning on the balls of your feet to face him as you walked backwards and added, “By the way, next time someone tries to throw you to the ground, you can turn the tables on them if you just _flip_ into it.”

“ _Flip into it_ ,” Morgan scoffed through his laughter, “Yeah, okay, pretty girl, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You were still smiling as you made your way down the hall and outside, spotting Reid as he made his way to the front porch.  His hands were in his pockets, that wasn’t unusual, but he was tense, and his gaze was focused downwards.  He had been noticeably agitated for a while, and it had only been getting worse as the case carried on.  The fact that he was arriving at the Savage house meant he had likely snapped at _someone._

“Hey,” your lighter demeanor faded into concern, your brow furrowed as you caught his attention, “You alright?  It’s a hard case and I just…I’m worried about you.”

You’d _been_ worried for a while.  Ever since the case in California, where a teenage unsub was shot in front of Reid, the genius had been struggling.  You didn’t know the details, you didn’t ask, but you recognized some signs typical of past drug problems.  You didn’t think he’d relapsed, but you weren’t sure if anyone else noticed he was actively struggling with cravings and the risk of a relapse.  You didn’t know the details, you didn’t need them, you were just _worried_.  You’d grown close to everyone on the team, _especially_ Spencer, in a short period of time but that was no guarantee he’d feel comfortable talking to you about it.  Hell, he barely knew anything about _you_ , and it was _blatantly_ obvious that you were _actively_ making sure of that.

“Yeah, yeah I – I’m fine.  Just a long few days.”

That second part was true enough, but you knew his claim he was _fine_ was an utter lie.  You didn’t push, and you knew telling him he could talk to you would only make him feel worse, so you just nodded and accepted his answer.

“Morgan’s still trying to find something, and Penny is digging up Owen’s e-mails.  I’ve got a few calls to make, but I’ll be back in a bit.”


	5. One Less Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn't matter what it took, if you could prevent at least ONE nightmare you were going to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short compared to the others, but I felt like adding anything after the ending dicked up the flow.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### One Less Nightmare

 

It wasn’t the _only_ reason – and it was an admittedly _stupid_ reason – but part of the reason Spencer lied to you was because he just didn’t want to seem _weak_.  Not to you.  It wasn’t a matter of _impressing_ you, he wasn’t about to go running into fist-fights or leading SWAT teams anywhere, and he knew you wouldn’t think any less of him or use it against him.  It was just _dumb_ and _everything_ he knew about psychology told him that kind of behavior was something literal _cavemen_ did, but none of that stopped him from _lying_ and telling you that he was _fine,_ even though it was _obvious_ you knew he was lying.

That was something he didn’t keep in mind when he didn’t say anything about the note Owen left at the ranch he’d been hiding at with Jordan.

You almost physically froze when it clicked in your head.  Owen’s greatest fear was Jordan leaving him, and while she was the one who left he also _knew_ that was because law enforcement – your team – _told_ her to leave.  You talked Hotch into letting you drive Reid back to the station, taking the second suburban while everyone else and the few squad cars with them drove to the graveyard.  Sure, the note _said_ he was going to return his mother’s necklace, but Hope wasn’t the last one to wear that necklace.

The last person to wear that necklace had been the _one_ person keeping Owen from killing himself.

“You should be going with them, they might need you.”  Spencer wasn’t forceful, you were already driving the two of you back to the station as he stared out the window without really seeing the trees and fields as you passed through the country roads.

“You’re right, Owen is going to force us to kill him,” you replied, watching the road ahead without shooting a glance at your fellow agent.  You were taking a huge risk, you really shouldn’t have been telling anyone – even _Emily –_ what you were about to confess to Reid.  Your file was heavily redacted for a _reason_ , and much of it had nothing to do with who your father was or what he did.  “I hurt a lot of people in MI6, and the fact they were bad people didn’t help.  I don’t care about the circumstances, I just…I refuse to be part of hurting a victim _._   Not when there’s a better way to end this.”

 

 

********

 

This wasn’t looking good for you.

_At all._

Yes, Owen had been taken alive.  Yes, Reid had also actively held back from telling the others Owen was going to the Sherriff’s department and not his mother’s grave.  Yes, Reid was just as guilty as you were.

 _You_ , however, were only _temporarily_ part of the BAU with nothing but a few months and Emily’s word backing you up.  Hotch trusted Emily’s judgement, but it was clear her judgement wasn’t clear when it came to you.  While the unit chief settled for reprimanding Reid on the flight back home, he chose to speak with you in his office before either of you went home.  From what Hotch was _allowed_ to read of your file, you should have known better, your age wasn’t an excuse, and neither would a claim that things were _different_ in MI6.

The fact that Hotch was standing behind his desk wasn’t a good sign.

“I understand why Reid did this, but I don’t have that luxury with you.  I’m giving you one chance to explain yourself.”  He was stern, he didn’t need to give you that chance, and he would be fully in the right to fire you on the spot.  He was doing you a _favor._

“The town wanted Owen lynched, we had one day to bring him in alive before the Sherriff granted them that request, every deputy was going to grant that request with or without the Sherriff present, and Dr. Reid’s recent troubles and ability to relate to Owen meant he would be going to attempt to talk Owen down even if everyone else knew.  Agent Jareau wasn’t going to be leaving Jordan’s side at any time and as capable as Agent Prentiss is, shooting a teenage boy is something that would hang on her conscious endlessly.  I – “  You took a deep breath and broke eye-contact, immediately stopping your tactical review as you _knew_ that’s not what Hotch was looking for. 

This was the FBI.  You were an agent of the BAU.  You were explaining your actions to Hotch. 

This wasn’t MI6.  You weren’t an asset.  You weren’t making a tactical report to Clyde.

“We see enough darkness, whether I stay or not doesn’t matter.  What _does_ matter is that _nobody_ should live with the memory of killing a teenage victim turned into a killer by the ruthless bullies that surrounded him and turned his life into a living hell.  I trusted Reid, I know my own skills, and I knew I would be able to handle the situation before anyone got hurt if that’s what it came to.”  You stood by your reasoning, you stood by your decision.  This wasn’t about telling Hotch some story and convincing him to see your point.  This was about explaining yourself.  Then you said something that, unbeknownst to you until months later, was the reason Hotch stuck with his initial decision to offer you a permanent position on the team.

“If Owen successfully committed suicide by cop, even if he wasn’t there it would have caused irreparable damage to Reid’s psyche, it’s something he would have never gotten over, and it would have only made his recovery that much harder.  Recovering from drug addiction is hard enough, and as much as he considers this place a home it cannot be helping that recovery process.”  You explained as you looked Hotch in the eyes, not once standing down and standing firm.  Hotch already knew about Reid’s drug problem, they all knew, and they all agreed to _never_ say _anything_ to _anyone_.  That was, however, only _part_ of the things you considered.

“Even she played a minor part in the death of a teenage boy would haunt Emily for the rest of her days.  David returned to the BAU to conquer the ghosts of his career and the last thing he needs is to add more to the mixture.  As strong and stern as he acts, Morgan never would have forgiven himself and he would have turned that guilt into anger turned inward toward himself.  Garcia would have struggled to find a way to help everyone deal with the event while blaming herself for not working fast enough and convinced herself there was something that she could have done to stop everything, and JJ would have wished she could have been there to try and communicate with the boy because communication is her _job_.  Then there’s you, and in a decade or so every time you looked at your son you’d be haunted by the fact you had to kill a young man his age.  There are shadows in every corner of this job, monsters and memories that will haunt every member of the BAU, but I saw a chance to prevent at least one nightmare and I took it.  I will _not_ apologize for that.”

Hotch nodded once, looking down at the file on his desk as he sat down and simply ordered, “I’ll need you to come in early tomorrow so we can begin your paperwork.  As of this moment you are permanently a profiler of the BAU.”

“Yes sir.”


	6. It's Not The Biggest Show...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It figured the first time you'd be in New York City would be for a case, though you couldn't say you had honestly considered going to the big city for anything else. Things were just too disastrous to even think about that.
> 
> You just realized how bad things were before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short rant time. Woohoo!
> 
> Pinterest suspended my account for no valid reason and I’m currently waiting for them to get their shit together. Until then all my boards, including my ENTIRE Writing board and my ENTIRE Criminal Minds board, are all completely out of my reach because the spam-spotting bot got a hard-on. I read the spam policy, and I didn't violate it. So...all I can figure is that the spam-bot fucked up again, which apparently it does a LOT. Like, I appreciate that they're super anti-spam, as an American fully aware of the part Facebook played in the 2016 elections I'm really glad Pinterest is super anti-spam, but there's gotta be a zone between 'the spammers have control' and 'suspend everyone that pins a lot of shit.'
> 
> I’m noticeably irritated and from what I’ve looked up it can take a few hours to a few weeks for the helpdesk to get to a ticket. So, I figure it'll be a while before I get help which only makes things that much worse because that's like 90% of my muse-control GONE. Just GONE. For someone who deals with shit with writing...that's a problem.
> 
> The REAL punchline is, while I wait for an email from the helpdesk, I have to regularly check the spam folder because a LOT of people have reported that’s where the email showed up. I thought I understood the Princess Bride line ‘I do not think that word means what you think it means.’ I really didn’t until now.
> 
> Just wanted to vent that out…and explain that I’ve lost access to MOST of what I use to coax my muse to do what I want her to. I’m considering making a second account and just saving shit to my computer instead of saving them to boards, but based on my luck I’d still be accused of spam because it looks like there’s going to be some fundamental changes in the business itself in the near future and why would they bother making changes now when they could leave someone else to do it? That's just how businesses work.
> 
> Still, popularity already seems to be picking up (my standard for popularity of a fic is pretty low tbh) for some reason I don't understand, but it makes me feel better. Especially since this is 100% self-indulgent.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### It's Not The Biggest Show...

 

At your natural height it was difficult to look authoritative, you just barely avoided being _comically_ short, so after you’d been granted the rank of _Supervisory_ Special Agent, you’d opted for wearing buckled heels or heeled boots to work more often – _especially_ if there was a case.  You _had_ to.

_Nobody was going to take a feisty blonde Keebler elf seriously._

It was one thing when you had recently graduated the academy and were working on a trial basis, mostly keeping to yourself and following orders, but you weren’t doing that anymore.  You had to at least _look_ like you were an adult, and having eyes the size of dinner plates weren’t going to help with that.  You’d considered cutting your hair but…it was like a security blanket.  You couldn’t bring yourself to just _chop it all off._   Not after it took so _bloody_ long to grow it out.

You took your own liberties with the dress code expectations – besides Hotch, Emily and JJ seemed to be the only ones that followed it to the letter – but you never looked _unprofessional_ and there was just no use in making a fuss about it.  Whatever shade of skinny jeans or fitted slacks you wore, they were never ripped or torn, and even if the t-shirt or pullover sweater did have a graphic it was nothing more than a faded mountain range or watercolor sunset.

The sleeves of your dark maroon pullover were admittedly a bit long as it was comfortably oversized, but it didn’t block access to the matte black handgun tucked in the holster at the belt of your white skinny jeans, and your black buckled heels didn’t alter your ability to maneuver in the field. _Comfortable shoes_ weren’t something you could _change into_ in a moment’s notice, that was something you’d quickly learned during your time with MI6, so you’d just gotten used to running around in heels.

Yet, it wasn’t your appearance that was going to make things difficult for you on this case.

The team had been called in on a case in New York City, random shootings that seemed more like _executions_ had been plaguing the city for two weeks – even bringing up the idea of a new _Son of Sam._   All the victims were killed in different boroughs of the city, had nothing to do with each other, and had no similarities that could form a common victimology.  The head of an FBI field office had called in the BAU to assist a joint FBI/NYPD task force in ending this nightmare, but she was also having a few problems – not _entirely_ because she was British, but that just _had_ to be part of it.

Either your accent was a gift from god or a curse from the devil, there was _no_ in-between.

By the time Morgan helped Penny carry her go-bag onto the jet, you couldn’t help but make a mental note that the little bow on her bag was the _cutest_ thing, you were gathered around the small table with Hotch, Spencer, and Rossi looking over the specifics of the case.  The _inevitable_ question had already come up – one pulling on your heavily classified experience with MI6 – and Hotch didn’t even look up from the file as he asked it.

“Do you think this is a hit?”

“No, the victim is entirely random.  The only kind of organization that utilizes this style of hit are international organizations, crime lords that run the international black market and found out a fence is cheating them.  This isn’t anything a local mob would do, they prize themselves on making big shows to send a message,” you explained as you looked over the screenshots of the security footage from the growing camera system throughout the city, “Then there’s the attire, it’s all black.  Any professional knows blending in requires colors, even if they’re dull and muted.  The movie trope that stealthy people wear all black is just that – a wildly inaccurate movie trope.”

“So, they’re efficiently killing random people for their own reasons.”  Rossi paused in flipping through the pictures of victims, before their murder, as you gave your answer.  It was good to have that sort of confirmation, but that meant there was nothing to go on.

“That’s what baffles me,” you admitted as you continued looking through the screenshots, “It’s hardly a secret where the cameras are, but every killing was in almost perfect view of a camera.  The unsub had to actively keep their head down to keep from being seen…but the M.O. doesn’t fit with someone who wants attention...”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Spencer agreed, just as baffled.  He’d been just staring down at the open files laid out on the table, having long since memorized them, resting his chin on the hand holding his pen as he ran through any possible theories in search of one that made sense.  You’d been looking over the videos and pictures in an attempt to find _something_ that hinted towards a professional hit or even just an organization, but you had nothing.  “There’s no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical connection.  Do the police have any leads?”

“He’s killing roughly every two days.  The press is having a field day, and it sounds like the mood on the street’s getting pretty edgy,” Hotch warned the team, giving you all a heads up on what you were walking into.

“It’s a joint FBI-NYPD task force?” Rossi confirmed, mostly reminding the rest of you just what a clusterfuck you were being called into.  You should have been called by the third victim, especially since that third victim was murdered only _days_ after the _first._   Something, or someone, held back that call.

“Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office.  She’s running point on the case and called me directly.”  Hotch lifted his head to call down the jet to JJ, “JJ, would you tell them we’re ready to go?”

“Right.”  You noticed she seemed to be in her own head, but it would have to wait until later.

“Kate’s starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes.”

“Joyner, I know her,” Morgan spoke up, sitting on the armrest of the couch as he listened to the state of things, “She’s a brit, right?”

“Oi,” you cut in, a bit teasingly, “Be careful with that _contempt_ there, yankee doodle, it’s not like she stormed the field office and painted a Union Jack on the wall.”

“I just heard she can be a bit of a pain in the ass.”  Morgan couldn’t help the little chuckle at your light teasing.  If you were really offended, even the fact both Hotch and Emily were between you and him wouldn’t stop you.  Though, to be entirely honest, Morgan wasn’t even sure it was _possible_ to really offend you.  You got offended on behalf of other people, quite easily, but you never seemed to get offended on behalf of _yourself._

“I didn’t think so,” Hotch admitted, gently countering the rumor and giving at least _partly_ answering why Agent Joyner called him directly instead of contacting JJ.

Emily was the one to ask the million-dollar question, “You know her?”

“We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

You shared a brief look with Spencer as the thought running through your head was running through his own as well.

_That’s **one** use of the word ‘liaised.’ _

 

********

 

Three words.  All you said was _‘pleasure to meet you,’_ and Detective Brustin made it clear you were his _least_ favorite part of the BAU’s presence.  He wasn’t happy about working with the FBI in general, he _really_ didn’t like working with Joyner, and having _another_ woman with a British accent with the ability to go over his head only made his mood worse.  After making your introductions, you asked Garcia to get you copies of the videos when she had a chance.  You’d hoped you could stay behind and focus on examining the video of the crimes themselves, but Hotch was right.  With the nature of these crimes, your skills would be better used going to the latest crime scene.

What you _didn’t_ expect – and really should have – was the reaction the rest of the team would have.

Or…well…two _very_ specific members.

“Hey, so, uh,” Reid kept his voice low as he approached Detective Cooper, expecting Prentiss to slide in when she overheard the conversation – which is exactly what she did.  They’d both noticed the way Brustin reacted when you introduced yourself, _outwardly_ disrespectful despite the fact that – even though the BAU made it a point to work _with_ locals instead of just taking over – you held a fair bit of authority over him.  They’d both also noticed that it made Cooper uncomfortable.  You weren’t going to make anything of it, too focused on doing the job and reasoning it wasn’t bad enough to prove detrimental of the investigation.

Prentiss had hoped to speak with Detective Cooper about _exactly_ why Brustin had a problem, but she also wasn’t _at all_ surprised that Reid beat her to it.  You’d become close to everyone already, but you’d grown closest to Reid out of a mixture of similar interests, similar experiences in being child prodigies who started law enforcement careers far too young for your own well-being, difficult and complicated childhoods, and the fact Hotch seemed to pair the two of you together more often than not. 

Officially the team was just a _team_ , nobody had a set _partner,_ but as the unit chief Hotch had to be aware of who worked best with whom.  Hotch and Rossi worked best as they had worked together when Hotch had just started at the BAU, Prentiss and Morgan worked best out of mutual respect of the fact that everyone has secrets and keeping those secrets never meant they couldn’t trust each other, but the way you and Reid worked together was…unique – completely unexpected even to _Prentiss_.  Like a well-oiled machine or practiced agents specifically _trained_ to work together.

“Well, by the fourth murder, the FBI was brought in.  Good.  We can use all the help we can get.”  Cooper was trying to defend his partner, but the way he kept pausing and his repeated use of fillers he was struggling.  The only part of that statement he said confidently was his affirmation that he believed the FBI’s presence was a good thing.  “But, uh, all of a sudden she’s taking meetings with the mayor, and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it.”

“We’re only here to help.  Think of us as a resource,” Prentiss reaffirmed gently, reinforcing Cooper’s faith in the fact the FBI’s presence on a case like this was a good thing.  They needed at least _one_ detective actively trying to work with them, or they’d never get _any_ work done.

“Okay, profile me.”

That was hardly difficult.  After spending so much time profiling on a daily basis, there was no way to just look at a _stranger_ without profiling them.  Detective Cooper liked having the image of a womanizer, it was likely easier for him to do his job that way, but he was _deeply_ committed to not only his wife, but his young child.  He was a baseball fan.  He was immensely loyal, but based on the way Cooper held his badge as a result of Brustin’s bristly attitude towards the agents his partner’s disrespect for the chain of command bothered him – so he likely had a history in the military.

Reid looked to Prentiss, wondering if they were actually going to profile the detective or if they were just going to brush it off and go about the job.

“What am I thinking?”

_Is Joyner going to ease up any time soon?_

Prentiss couldn’t help but scoff with a small – but confident – smile as she answered, “It’s never gonna happen.”

“No offense,” Cooper wasn’t convinced, “But we’ve had five murders.  Hope it gets better than that.”

 

********

 

If you were going to get a better grasp on what the unsub was doing, you were going to have to walk through it yourself.  A few blocks away from the latest crime scene, Morgan pulled over to let you out of the suburban.  Hotch had told you – specifically – to walk through the crime scene, and that included walking through the few blocks to the subway station.  Everyone on the team had their own specialties, experience that made them particularly informed in specific types of crimes and unsubs, and hits like this were _your_ business.  As Spencer looked over the map back at the office, the two of you discussed the most likely path the unsub took to get to the station before you told Morgan where to drop you off.

“Minimal cameras, they’re mostly focused on the streets,” you observed, still on the phone with Spencer as you looked around the crowded streets and sidewalks, “Diverse population as well.  _Pennywise_ could walk down the street and nobody would notice, reminds me of London.”

 _“Really?”_   Spencer had never been to London – he’d never been to _England_ at all – but the topic of what London was like never really came up.  He wasn’t entirely surprised parts of New York City reminded you of the city you thought of as your home, even though your father lived in a different country for much of your life, but he also expected D.C. would remind you of London more than the _Big Apple._

“Yeah, though we built our city around buildings dating back to the _eleventh_ century, then there’s the bits of the London Wall still scattered about,” you joked as you walked down the street to the station, “Last I checked remains of an old Roman wall are a _bit_ older than anything in New York.”

Despite the stress of the case itself, the struggles you were going to have when you were once again in the same room as Detective Brustin, and the fact you weren’t getting _nearly_ as much as you hoped you could through this walkthrough, Spencer’s amused chuckle on the other side of the line helped a bit.  _“Yeah, just by about 1700 years, give or take.”_

“Ah, sweet summer children, so sure it’s a good idea to be the world’s superpower,” you feigned a nostalgic tone as you neared the station, “One of these days you’ll see why we dropped that job like a hot rock.”

_“I’ll take your word for it.”_

“I’m getting close, let you know what we find when we get back.”  After a quick farewell, the two of you hung up and you tucked your phone into your back pocket as you made your way down the stairs and to the station, where Morgan, Rossi, and JJ were speaking with Detective Brustin.

“He knows the camera system,” you brought up when you were close enough to make that announcement without scaring civilians, “Well enough to assume he _wants_ these murders to be recorded but knows which way to duck his head to prevent being identified.  Between that, and the diversity of the streets, he can simply disappear back into the streets and be gone before anyone even calls for first responders.  He’s far too organized to return to the scene and he’s disgustingly confident.  We need something else to find him.”

“The descriptions have been sketchy,” Brustin filled the rest of you in on the status of eyewitness testimonies regarding the unsub, “Some people said he’s a light-skinned black man, Asian, Puerto rican, basically every homeboy in the city.”

“That’s not just sketchy…cross-racial identification is never reliable, but eyewitnesses tend to all agree on an unsub’s race.”  Your brow furrowed in concern as the pieces put themselves together and you dug your phone back out of your pocket and you scrolled through your contacts until finding the one you wanted.

“What is it?”  JJ was the one to voice the question, Morgan and Rossi were still reeling from the fact they’d never seen you go from concerned to what could only be described as _on guard_ in less than a second.

“They’re using a weapon _known_ for being part of tactical hits, they know where all the cameras are, pick targets at random, never returns to the scene, and has the kind of confidence an unsub can only get if they believe they’re in the _right_.  There are over 4,000 cameras in this city, and they’re all scattered in multiple boroughs.  They’d have to watch every single one of them and it would be far easier to make sure they’re never spotted, but instead they’re remaining unspotted until they find their target and take the shot,” you explained as you waited for Hotch to pick up his damned phone, slipping one of your hairbands off your wrist and cradling your cell between your ear and shoulder as you began tying your hair back.

You were such a fucking _idiot._   It was rule fucking _one_.

“ _They?”_ Rossi clarified as the other three agents shared wide-eyed looks as they caught up to the solution you’d put together.  It was general practice to refer to the unsub as _he_ until their gender was identified or there was proof there were more than one.  Then there was the fact you were _on edge_.  You were _never_ on edge.  Not like this.

You could just _hear_ your father in your head, reciting one of his number one rules.

_Fear tactics aren’t just about the biggest show._


	7. Subterfuge Is The First Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every second of this case seemed to escalate into something worse.
> 
> That wasn't about to end, no matter what anyone did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to start off with something a little bit lighter, cause it sure as hell ain’t gonna stay that way, but all my attempts to write a lighter opening failed.
> 
> I did want to have a little scene between Rea and Joyner, partially because there isn’t much done to make her relatable besides mentioning she and Hotch had a ‘thing’ at some point. She doesn’t need to be soft and genteel to be relatable, but they immediately jumped into her having a thing against Morgan – immediately making her hated to most of the viewers – and then killed her off so we were like ‘well…I’m an asshole.’ I just think she’s an interesting character and deserved better.
> 
> Also, sort of a short chapter, but I felt like the ending was really good so I kept it that way.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Subterfuge Is The First Defense

 

Another victim was shot in broad daylight, in the middle of the street, and there was no chance of seeing his face – no matter what Agent Joyner wanted to believe – and there was a note left behind.  Or, at least as close to a message as you’d get.  The _Death_ tarot card doesn’t actually mean death, it’s more like a transition from one state to another, but the D.C. sniper left the same card at the scene and that’s what it was all about.

They _knew_ the FBI was there – maybe even the BAU specifically.

There was no hiding these shootings anymore, and honestly there was no chance.  This group was thriving off the panic, just as you feared, and worse yet Garcia ran a program to compare the size and build of the unsubs in every video.

There was one shooter for every shooting.

You were right, there was no doubt, but Hotch needed to make sure before the task force began to panic.  This was something that had to be approached carefully.  There was enough for a _working_ profile, despite the fact most groups stick together instead of making separate kills, but it didn’t fit any gang initiation anyone on the team had heard of.  JJ was getting a rundown of the local gangs to be sure, but it wasn’t like _any_ organized crime organization to just kill _random_ civilians.  If they went after civilians, there was a _reason_ they picked that _specific_ civilian – and the only organizations that did that were the kind of groups the CIA, MI6, and Interpol went after.

Yet, somehow, that wasn’t the moment where you were left _completely_ baffled.

You were just _barely_ 23 and you barely had any friends.  The only experience you had with a friend telling you she was pregnant involved her crying, you consoling her, and then helping her sneak out of the dorm and to the nearest clinic.  You never really spoke after that, she was just your roommate, but you’d had a mutual respect and trust afterwards.  That was _literally_ your entire experience.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t like kids, or even didn’t want them, it was just something you’d never put any _real_ thought into.  For so long it seemed too dangerous for something even resembling that…but things were changing.  Your father was locked away in the Russian tundra, his enemies had no idea you were alive, your current profession was far safer, and you could even see yourself doing something more along the lines of a _civilian_ profession when you were older.  It was just a matter of finding someone willing to deal with your…

_Issues._

Now wasn’t exactly the time to be thinking about things like that.

Now was the time to get to your room, shower, change, order room service, lay out everything you had on the case on top of your bed like a conspiracy theory specifically designed to keep you from sleeping, and wait for Spencer to come over to discuss the case and the theories the two of you had come up with during the day.

 

********

 

You’d been one of the first to arrive to the office the next morning.  That wasn’t exactly _odd_ , you had a habit of getting up early on principle, and it helped that you’d slept maybe a _few_ hours after Spencer went back to his room.

This case was easily larger than anything you’d dealt with as part of the BAU, it was arguably bigger than anything the rest of the team had dealt with, and there was no time to rest on your laurels.  You’d barely taken the time to tuck your black skinny jeans into your black boots after making sure your knife was secured in its hiding spot, and you hadn’t even bothered tucking in your true-blue cotton button-up before strapping your gun to your thigh.  Hell, you’d even done your makeup and tied back your hair on the way to the office.  You doubted there was anything extra you could do before the others arrived, but there was no harm in being prepared.

“Morning,” you greeted Joyner as you crossed paths as the break area, getting a cup of coffee for the morning.  You didn’t like how she seemed to have a _personal_ vendetta against Morgan, but until you had any real proof or answers you couldn’t call her out on it.  Might as well keep things professional and pleasant until then.

“Good morning, I was actually hoping to speak with you at some point,” Joyner admitted, letting her wall down just a _bit_ before further explaining, “Aaron said you started in MI6.”

“Specialist work gets messy, there aren’t a lot of people capable of it.”  You didn’t mean it to be harsh, or even to flaunt it, but it was a fact.  “Not everyone is up to dealing with having a grenade thrown at them every other day, then there’s the frightening amount of bombs, and there was a time where I actually thought _‘three bombs in three weeks, I’m beginning to think it’s time to just pull the plug on the world and shut this shit down’_ so I decided it was time for a career change. _”_

“A career change to hunting down sadistic killers,” she joked lightly, letting you see a part of her you believed nobody else – save for Hotch – in the _office_ had been allowed to see, “If you don’t mind me asking, have you ever experienced backlash because you’re from England?”

“Not really, but it is a different situation,” you admitted as you turned to lean back against the counter as you mixed the creamer into your coffee, “The BAU has a need for…specific people.  It’s not selective by _choice_ , but because the needs are so specific.  Everyone I work with regularly is already aware of that, aware that I have experience and skills that are particularly useful to the BAU.  While becoming the head of an entire field office is impressive and requires highly capable agents, it requires far more politics than profiling.”

“That is true, American politics are very different,” Joyner let out a long and frustrated sigh as she poured her own cup of coffee, it looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep for days, and she was clearly speaking through experience.

“A lot more sucking up and manipulation, a lot less hard facts.”  You agreed, huffing at your own frustration with it, “MI6 prepared me for the kind of manipulation involved, but your experience with the Yard can’t have helped.  They’re all about honesty and facts, not kissing ass and lying.”

“You ever work with the Yard?”

You shook your head before taking a sip of coffee before further explaining, “Not directly, but I had a friend in MI5 who worked with the Yard a bit, met his husband there…I wonder how the adoption process is going…”

Joyner chuckled a little as she smiled, hoping to keep in contact when the case was over, but it was time to get back to work.  There was a group shooting innocent civilians at random, and they needed to be stopped.

 

********

 

A _seventh_ victim, Morgan and Joyner at each other’s throats, Hotch letting his personal relationship with Joyner blind his judgment.  Rossi had, as was his nature, left for the nearest bar to talk to Morgan.  You weren’t about to say anything, but Rossi was falling into his place as the father – maybe grandfather – of the team.  The one that would give sage advice while giving the injured or struggling party a chance to vent, or to track them down and dish out some tough love when one of you was just being a brat.  You never met Gideon, you knew of his reputation both within and outside of the BAU, but to be completely honest…

 _Gideon_ wasn’t what this team needed anymore.

Maybe they did at first, when they were a fledgling team trying to find their footing, but that’s not what this team was anymore.  You’d all gained confidence in your skills both on your own and as a team, and now you didn’t need the professor teaching you.  You needed the grumpy uncle unafraid to snap some sense into you.  It had taken time for him to fall into that role, but after assisting him with a personal problem in Indianapolis he started to fall into that role naturally.

You honestly weren’t entirely sure if you’d found yours yet.

During the time your position was _temporary_ you remained on your best behavior, you were careful, up until you drew the line for that case in Texas.  Now, you were far more comfortable.  Hotch recognized your willingness to do _whatever_ it would take to protect the team and surrounding civilians, even the unsub, but the role of _protector_ had already been filled and this job didn’t exactly allow for a… _specialist._   You had a great amount of skills that were useful and _necessary_ , skills the others didn’t have, but that didn’t automatically mean you knew what role you played.

Part of you hoped Rossi would sit you down to have a talk about this, but you figured that wasn’t going to happen.  It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because you were _both_ aware that wouldn’t help you.  It’s not like you doubted your skills, you were possibly _over_ confident in your skills, you weren’t questioning whether or not you belonged there, and you weren’t having a tiff with a member of the team.  You were simply questioning what your permanent role was, you were finding your place, and that was something you had to feel out for yourself.  You even _knew_ that.

What role did a former MI6 spy, a _barely_ 23-year-old female James Bond that was actually _good_ at the damn job, play in the BAU?

You bounced so much from the office to the field, it was like _nobody_ could tell where your skills were best used.  After the seventh victim, you were out in the field patrolling, but Rossi had called you to put you on speaker with him, Spencer, and Detective Brustin back at the field office.

“You do know Penny _just_ called a role-call, right?” you teased with a smirk as you kept most of your attention on the crowd around you.  You blended in well enough, buckled black heels and dark skinny jeans matched with a comfortably loose white V-neck t-shirt and black blazer that mostly covered the gun holstered at your hip.  You’d braided your hair back to be sure, there was no telling what you’d get into, but it’s not like _that_ was going to make you stick out.

 _“What are we dealing with?”_   Rossi was rushed, trying to get you to pull an answer based on your previous professional experience.  This was something you had _far_ more experience dealing with.

“You know – “

 _“An organized group of unsubs who want to spread fear and wants the attention of the FBI specifically.  What are we dealing with?”_   He needed to make sure.  He couldn’t go around spreading that kind of fear without it being true, and you were as close to an expert as they had immediate access to.

Your blood went cold.

_Terrorism._

You turned and dashed down the street.  Extra patrols weren’t going to help.  They were only going to make things _worse._   The agent you were partnered with struggled to keep up with you, despite the fact he was taller with longer legs, partially because you were just _trained_ to slip through crowds with ease.

“Recall everyone in the field, the profile is wrong, double security around high-target areas and any politicians, and get Garcia to check if someone’s hacked into the system.  The shootings were an entrance exam, but they were also meant to spread fear.”

 _“What’s their long-term plan?”_ Reid asked as you heard Rossi dialing the nearby desk phone to get hold of Garcia.

“They have a specific target in mind, either a person or place, but it’s not their next target.  Groups like this take time to know the city, they’re calculated and escalate _slowly_.  They’ll be expecting us to swarm, they _want_ us to swarm, and we can’t do that.  We need to remain just as calculated as them.  Specific agents in specific locations, utilize undercover officers and agents over marked cruisers, keep visible patrols at average numbers on regular patrols.  Above all _do not let the public know,_ we _cannot_ let them know we’re onto them.”

 _“How the hell is that going to help?”_   Detective Brustin was skeptical, and he didn’t like the fact you were calling for a plan that went against _everything_ he was taught as an officer.

“Contrary to popular belief, subterfuge is the _first_ defense.”

You hung up without another word, quickly flipping through your contacts to reach Hotch. 

The agent you’d been partnered with froze in the middle of the street, looking around the crowd, baffled at how a British woman with blonde hair that practically glowed in the fucking dark, speaking on the phone as she made her way through the crowd, could just…

_Disappear._


	8. Past Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some big sis Emily at the beginning because she’d be the best big sister. I’m a big sister (oldest of three girls) and as a natural big sister all my friends call me their big sis. She’s just a natural big sister.
> 
> It’s a tough role, requires a terrifying amount of natural badassery and will push you to pick a fight with a fucking army or fearlessly telling your siblings when they’re being a dumbass and risking them being mad at you for a while, but it’s VERY rewarding.
> 
> There’s also some sweetheart Spence. Because he’s just a sweetheart. We all know that. That’s why we’re here.
> 
> Also, as we all know, Derek Morgan is an awesome big bro. So, we also have some big bro Morgan.
> 
> This chapter also helped me notice a specific technique I use in my writing. So that was kind of fun.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Past Experiences

 

Detective Cooper had been shot only _moments_ after you’d reached Hotch, who pushed for your advice to be followed, and the latest shooting only confirmed it.

You caught the concerned look Emily kept shooting you, her career in the CIA giving her an _idea_ of what you did during your time with MI6.  She hadn’t been a _specialist_ herself, but she’d met a few, and the way they lightly joked about almost being blown up only _hours_ earlier…

“It’s impossible to narrow down _exactly_ what they’re going to do.  _Keep in mind_ that the first or even _second_ bomb might not be the last, and unless we can attach a _specific_ target to the bombing we must assume there will be more,” you stood firm, Hotch having handed you the floor by _introducing_ you based on your previous career, “It’s obvious they’re using a _Lo-Fi_ tactic, but what we don’t know is _what_ they want to hit.  This group is mostly made up of people born and raised in the US, _fear_ isn’t their only target, they need to prove themselves by hitting a target important to the US.  Do not trust _anyone_.  Do not _speak_ to anyone.  This is a game of _subterfuge_ and we _must_ control what information leaves this office or _thousands_ of people will be _dead._ ”

Emily had never seen you like this before, and it made her a bit uncomfortable.  You weren’t just calculated, but you were _cold._   If the wrong person made the wrong move they’d be dead before they hit the _ground_.  She knew that the ghosts that would haunt you as a result of your time in the BAU were nothing compared to the ghosts of your MI6 career, the darkness she’d faced in the BAU was nothing compared to the darkness she’d faced as a CIA agent, but she hadn’t thought it was anything that would teach you to behave like… _this._

As the team split up, Emily had asked if you wanted to check on Detective Cooper with her, but declined.  Your skills were needed elsewhere.  Morgan was heading to the local Homeland Security office, and you had a few contacts within Homeland Security you wanted to get in touch with.  You didn’t _specify_ anything beyond that, but nobody asked.  It was like Rossi in an interrogation, JJ’s dealings with the media, Reid in cracking a code the rest of you couldn’t even _hope_ to understand with a _key_ , Morgan making peace with local cops, Hotch’s sense for where everyone’s skills were best suited, or even Emily’s gut instinct that something was just _off_.  _Nobody.  Fucking.  Asked._

This wasn’t quite a warzone, but it wasn’t a _peaceful night_.  It was that strange zone in-between that left everyone else on edge and baffled, completely unsure of what to do and how to act, feeling like they were trying to stay balanced on a razor-thin fence trying not to fall to the wrong side.  You remained focused, you remained comfortable enough to do fucking _backflips_ on that proverbial fence, and Emily was _sure_ you didn’t know that the rest of the team was remaining calm because _you_ were remaining calm.  You had the innate ability to control the mood of the room, not because you wanted to but because you just had that kind of _charisma_.  You might not be the _leader_ in the room, but you were certainly the one that set the _mood,_ and it was more than that.

You were, almost to _spite_ your father, not only the emotional but _moral_ compass.  You kept secrets because you _had_ to for the safety of the UK and the _world_ , not because you _wanted_ to.  You shut down and kept a calculated approach because you _had_ to for the safety of the team and conclusion of the team, not because you _wanted_ to.  You defied direct orders to follow through a plan that would end a case without more death, not because you got a kick out of defying orders.  You spoke out of turn to victims or victims’ families to help them do the right thing despite the circumstances, not because you were irreverent or unrepentant.

You were good at the job, there was no doubt, but that wasn’t the real reason why Hotch decided you belonged on the team, and that decision had _nothing_ to do with combat prowess, or your clearances for _literally_ every weapon the FBI was willing to hand out to agents.

As worried as Emily was for you, there was a brief moment when she felt you were going to be okay.

In the rush of everything, you stopped to talk to JJ.  Not to tell her to stay out of the field, just to tell her to be careful.  “I’m thinking _Auntie [Y/N]_ , the _cool_ aunt that teaches them how to win at paintballing and laser-tag.”

JJ laughed at your lighthearted comment, her mood lifted just a little despite the personal struggles she was dealing with on top of everything else, “You really need to get to know Will, you’d _really_ get along.”

“I hope so,” you retorted as you took a few steps back, heading towards the door to leave with Morgan, “I’ll deal with garbage for myself, but my friends and family only get the _best_.”

 

********

 

Spencer barely managed to catch up to you on your way out, having stopped to speak with JJ before leaving to brief the Port Authority.  You were in the middle of clipping your long braid up into a bun, ensuring _nothing_ would get in your field of vision, and you’d already abandoned your blazer, not caring who saw the knife you had sheathed by your holstered gun.  Spencer wasn’t even going to ask about the fact you hadn’t changed into different shoes.  Rumor had it you did a backflip off the back of Garcia’s couch after you’d gone through an entire bottle of tequila with the rest of the girls.  That was a level of agility he was well aware he’d _never_ have.

“Hey, sorry I’m not going with you, it’s just- “

“No, you’ve got contacts and security clearances, I know,” he cut in earnestly, he really did understand.  He couldn’t _empathize_ , but he _understood_ that you made a calculated decision necessary for the situation.  That was…that was part of the reason he was able to get close to you so quickly, a trait he admired about you as he got to know you as more than the beautiful woman he’d bought a flower for.  It was that closeness that pushed him to make this one request.

He knew you.  He knew that, even if you were terrified, you’d dash into danger to protect _anyone_.  You joked it was just proof that you were _‘a bit nuts,’_ but Spencer firmly believed that courage was acting _despite_ fear.

“Whatever happens, be careful.”

_Please agree.  Please agree.  Please agree._

“You too.”

_You didn’t agree._

 

********

 

“You deal with stuff like this before?” Morgan asked the million-dollar question as he drove the two of you to the local Homeland Security office.  He didn’t know about Hotch or Rossi, but Morgan knew _he’d_ never dealt with something like it before.  That didn’t change the fact he was going to keep calm and focus on doing the job, do his best to treat it like any other case, but that didn’t mean he knew what he was doing.  It seemed like you did, they’d all pulled comfort from that, and while he was risking an answer that he didn’t want Morgan just _had_ to know.

He couldn’t tell if it was the fact you were _approximately_ the size of a _leprechaun_ or the fact your big blue eyes were about the size of _dinner plates_ , even though he knew part of it was just who you were, but he quickly found himself seeing you in the same light he saw his sisters.  Even if you admitted you’d lied and never dealt with something like this, he’d feel comfortable in the fact you _hadn’t dealt with something like this before._   He’d feel comfortable that he’d be able to protect you from the worst-case scenario.  He had, at least, _something._

“A few times,” you admitted, looking out the passengers’ side window as you spoke, “It didn’t always end without casualties, but we always managed to prevent _civilian_ casualties.”

That wasn’t the answer Morgan wanted to hear, but he didn’t get a chance to think about it much as a call came over the radio in the FBI issued suburban.

_Explosion in Federal Plaza.  Agent down._

The two of you shared a look before you braced yourself for the sharp U-turn Morgan made as you started scrolling through your contacts to start making calls.

_Emily was at the hospital, they would have mentioned the name of the hospital in the call.  She wasn’t the victim._

“What’s the plan, pretty girl?”  Morgan asked the question partially to keep you focused.  You were the expert in this – as much as he hated to admit that – and you were the one that could figure out what was going on in a split second.

“The streets are clear in that area, it’s far too late for maximum damage, they’d want to hit as many civilians as possible to maximize the number of first responders,” you calculated as you continued to scroll through your contacts.

_Spencer was headed towards the Port Authority office, on the southern end of Manhattan Island._

“Alright, what else?”  Morgan hadn’t the _faintest_ idea what to think, what to expect, so he had to keep coaxing answers out of you.

“The first responders weren’t the targets, this isn’t true Lo-Fi, there’s something else at play.  We need to look at _everyone_ at the scene of the explosion, we can’t trust _anyone_ but the wounded agents.”  You reached forward to flip through the radio stations to the news.

_“We have just heard that the bomb was inside an SUV – “_

“They targeted agents specifically…” you whispered under your breath, just _barely_ loud enough that Morgan heard it.  He remained quiet, waiting for you to speak as you put the pieces together yourself.  You stopped trying to reach anyone, waiting for them to reach you instead, and your eyes almost glazed over as you ran through every other time you were faced with a situation similar to this as Morgan flipped on the sirens and swerved through the streets.  Your phone rang and you immediately jumped to answer on speaker.

“You’ve got me and Morgan.”  You didn’t even wait, you knew whoever reached you was trying to make sure the both of you were okay.

_“Yes, you are.  Thank god.”_

“We’re almost back at the federal building.  What the hell’s going on?”  Morgan snapped, trying to find more answers so you could pull on your own experience and get the team some real answers.  Most of your experience was being _told_ what to do, you acted as _ordered_ in MI6.  That didn’t mean you weren’t fully capable of thinking on your own, that you weren’t fully capable of profiling and investigating on your own, but you never acted without being given an order.  The ability to act freely that Hotch had given you was something you were still getting used to.  You’d adapt quickly, but for the moment you still needed a bit of help.

 _“Alright, we’re going the closed circuit footage right now,”_ Penny answered as she, without a doubt, desperately tried to reach the others.

“Where are the others?” you asked, the worst-case scenarios popping into your mind before you filtered through them and tossed them out as _impossible._

 _“You’re the first.  Rossi and Reid called me.”_   Garcia reported quickly from the other end of the line.  She knew what you were going to ask, knowing just how close you were with Prentiss and that you’d _freely_ jump off a cliff for _anyone_.  _“I’m reaching out to Prentiss right now, but the cell towers are overloaded and crashing.”_

“Alright, keep us on the line while you check on everyone else.”  Morgan would be the first to admit that request was _entirely_ for himself.  He needed to know they were safe just as much as you did.  Maybe not for the same reasons, but he _needed to know._

_“Is everyone okay?”_

You physically relaxed when you heard Emily’s voice.  “Rossi and Reid are back at the office, I’m with Morgan, and Penny is trying to reach Hotch.  Where are you?”

_“I’m following Detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s Critical Incident Command Posts.”_

_“One of them?”_  The quiet tone of Garcia’s voice was enough proof that she already knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Yeah, after 9/11 they decentralized.  They had way too many eggs in one basket that day.”

“It wasn’t just New York,” you added to Morgan’s explanation, “Every city in the EU and US did the same thing.”

 _“Has anyone talked to JJ?”_   You could hear the panic in Penny’s voice.

_“She was headed back to the hotel.”_

“The hotel is three blocks outside of Federal Plaza, but find her anyway.”  You hoped your knowledge of the location would help calm Penny.  As close as you were with JJ, you weren’t ignorant to the fact that Penny was _much_ closer than you were, just like you were much closer to Emily than Penny or JJ.

 _“I’m dialing her mobile.”_   Penny was calmer, but she was still panicked.

Then she got JJ’s voicemail, and it cut off mid-message.

“What was that?”

_“It went dead mid-message.”_

_“Try her again!  She’s probably back at – “_

“Emily!” you cried when she’d been cut off in the middle of a sentence, just before you were cut off.  You slid your eyes shut.

_Breathe.  Calculate.  Act._

That was something your mother had told you years ago, long before you understood why she left and why she left you with your father, and even during the years you hated her you could still hear her – her undeniably Welsh accent strong and comforting in a way that warmed your very soul – and this moment was no different.

Morgan spared a moment to look at you, your silence and the deep breath you’d taken catching him off guard as he’d _never_ seen you do that before.

“Continue to the scene, one of them is still there, any victim of the explosion wouldn’t be in a position to call 911 and report an agent down.”

That wasn’t what worried Morgan.  It was what you muttered under your breath.

_“I’ll get my answers.”_

 

********

 

“Hey!” Morgan exclaimed after he skidded the suburban to a halt, the two of you practically _launching_ yourselves out of the SUV when it reached a stop, but the two of you had entirely different plans.  That became clear as Morgan waved his badge and demanded, “Who’s in charge here?”

You didn’t bother with that.  You just slipped past and dashed into the scene, slipping through before anyone could even _think_ to stop you, and you dashed through the street at a speed that was impressive even _without_ heels.  Morgan remained behind to work _‘damage control,’_ he was fully aware that – while the both of you acted as the key _guardians_ and _fighters_ of the team – his methods were closer to a cop or soldier while yours were closer to an agent or assassin.  You didn’t _wait_ , you _acted_ and dealt with the consequences.

You _acted_ fast enough to keep up with how fast Reid _thought._

“Hotch!” you cried out as you got closer, catching Morgan’s attention as he tried to reason with the man in charge of the blockade, but you practically _skidded_ to a halt when you saw a man you _didn’t_ know.  You knew Joyner was injured, knew you could stay there and help, but…

“Who called 911?” you asked carefully, remaining on the balls of your feet as Morgan dashed through the blockade and towards you as you prepared to take off once again.  You weren’t going to aim a gun at a civilian, but you knew the chances.

“What?” Hotch looked up at you, in his state far too shaken to keep up.

“ _Who called 911?”_   It was the first time you’d made a demand like that since you'd left the FBI academy, strengthening your tone as you kept your eyes laser focused on the man you didn’t recognize.  You heard Morgan’s phone ring as he barely managed to slow down enough to keep from skidding to a halt before kneeling at Joyner’s side.  This was it.  This was when you _knew._

There were two kinds of guardians in the world.

The kind who gained power from their _emotions_ – like Morgan – and the kind who gained power from their mind – like you.

Unlike Morgan, you were capable of focusing in on the threat with the kind of efficiency only a _computer_ was capable of.  Unlike you, Morgan could look past all the dangers and freely follow his heart.  You were fully capable of raw _brutality_ in the name of protecting the innocent.  That was a line Morgan’s heart – even with his grandstanding in the interrogation room – would never allow him to cross.

Every team that stared into the heart of darkness needed someone that carried just a _bit_ of that darkness with them, someone with blood on their hands, someone who wouldn’t wait for the order to act, someone who would see a threat and act on their own.  Someone who - no matter how they felt about it - would execute a threat if that's what it took to get everyone else out alive.

For this team that was _you._

You weren't an agent or asset waiting for an order anymore, and your need to act without orders wasn't a _crutch_ that _crippled_ your career anymore.  It was part of the reason you were part of the team.  Your ability to calculate a threat and act in seconds - as if on instinct - without waiting for the _go ahead_ was something the others just...didn't have.  Not to the extent it had been _burned_ into you as a child.

Your eyes shifted catching the way the simply dressed civilian’s _foot_ moved to allow him to bolt just a _millisecond_ before you took off after him.

_“Get back here you bastard!”_


	9. The Death Of Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will FULLY admit there’s been a lot of bonding with Morgan in the last few chapters. There’s a reason for that. I swear. The main ship hasn’t changed. I SWEAR.
> 
> Also, they were all ‘they’d need a chemical engineer to build these bombs’ and every time all I can think is ‘technically…ya’ll got one yourselves. I mean he went the long route getting the PhDs for Chemistry and Engineering separately – and math on top of that – but he’s gotta know enough to put it all together, right?’
> 
> Also, I dropped all the chapters of this case at the same time cause I felt like the additional suspense was just a dick move. I love suspenseful endings, but there's a line between 'suspense' and 'the writer is a dick.'

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Death Of Him

 

They rushed to try and catch up as they gathered in the office, save for three members of their team.  They all know Garcia was safe in the server room, Prentiss dashed into the office, and JJ was close behind her.  Reid and Rossi pulled their attention away from the boards mapping out the case as everyone started gathering, until Garcia reached out through a video chat.

 _“The bomber!  The bomber!”_ she cried out in a panic, _“I reached Derek and told him, but then he yelled after [Y/N], I think they’re chasing after him._ ”

The thought that anything could happen to _either_ of you had Garcia shaking and nearly in tears.  She had identified the bomber through the CCTV and reached Morgan to tell him the bomber stuck around after placing the bomb under Joyner’s SUV, but that didn’t guarantee the two of you were safe.  That didn’t guarantee _any_ of you were safe.  That just guaranteed she wasn’t the only member of the team that knew.  She was nauseous.  She was _physically_ nauseous.  If anything happened to either of you.  Oh god.  She couldn’t deal with that.  You were her family.  Losing _anyone_ on the team –

 _“What?”_   Spencer couldn’t believe it.  You weren’t stupid enough to go running off after someone that dangerous, right?

 _“The bomb – it was in Kate’s SUV, or under it.  Hotch is out there with her,”_ Garcia explained, still in a panic, _“He seems okay, but she looks really heart.  He hasn’t moved her.”_

Rossi kept his cool, focused on the facts that would help the most.  “Where was Kate’s SUV parked?”

_“Uh – two blocks east of Federal Plaza.”_

“Two blocks east and they target Kate’s SUV?” Emily questioned, running through the same questions you had before you and Morgan reached Garcia over the phone and reached Hotch at the scene of the first bomb.  Reid grabbed the nearest dry-erase marker, a red one, and started plotting things out on the map, putting things together as it was the _only_ thing he could do at that moment.  There were pieces putting themselves together while Rossi continued to keep Garcia focused through her panic.

“Have you I.D.ed the bomber?”

_“Lisa’s running him and the dead guy through VICAP.”_

“Call Homeland Security.”  With Hotch out of the picture, that left Rossi in charge.  Nothing he wasn’t used to.  “They should be at all the murder sites, see if they found anything.”

“I’m on it.”  Just because she didn’t have the contacts you had didn’t mean JJ didn’t have a way with words.

“Garcia, find out how we can help [L/N] and Morgan.”

 

********

 

The bomber ran through crowds.  The clever _bastard._

You couldn’t go shooting through crowds, no matter how confidant you were in your marksmanship skills, that wasn’t a risk you were about to take.  You hadn’t even bothered unholstering your gun, just dashing through the crowds after the bomber as Morgan caught up with you and loudly – far louder than you could – demanded that the nearby civilians move out of the way.  He was catching up, but you’d had a bit of a head start.

Morgan followed you onto the nearby subway as the crowd dissipated, spotting you as you leaned back against the wall at the far end of the subway car, knife in hand, as you waited for him to catch up.  Backup wasn’t necessary as you chased the bomber through the streets, but you’d be an idiot to go through the subway train without backup.  You signaled for him to wait, making him pause until he’d caught his breath, before nodding towards the door and sliding it open.

With his gun out, Morgan was in a better position to handle the bomber at a distance, but after he’d nodded you slipped into the next car and moved forward.  You were _well_ aware of the fact that knives and hand-to-hand combat were more effective within 21 feet.  With Morgan at your back, his line of sight over your shoulder, you figured you’d be fine at _any_ distance.

The two of you stalked through the subway train, only stepping on the balls of your feet to remain as quiet as possible.  Every time you slid a door open, you kept your back to the nearby wall and waited until Morgan gave you the signal to slide the door open as he stared down the sights of his Glock.  Then you’d slip in front before continuing down the train car.  You’d follow this pattern for every car, even when you reached the end.

Your eyes had long since adjusted to quickly adapt to the dark, but you weren’t going to complain when Morgan flipped on the flashlight attached to his gun.  As much as you trusted everyone else, as capable as you knew Emily was, there wasn’t anyone else you’d rather be going through that dark tunnel with.

You both stepped carefully as you walked through the subway line, one wrong step and you’d end up with the shock to _end_ your lives.

You knew how angry Morgan was, you’d been just as angry as you chased after the little shit, so you turned to face Morgan and placed a finger to your lips to signal for him to stay quiet.  The light on his gun was partially so he could see where he was going, and it wasn’t bright enough to tell the bomber you were coming, so you turned to face ahead and continued to step carefully.

To say your next actions were _unsettling_ to Morgan would be…slightly inaccurate.

The fact that you were _capable_ of them weren’t what concerned him.

It was the fact that you _had_ to be capable to flip a six-inch knife around with such ease as you crouched down and stalked through such a deep darkness that worried him.  He still followed your lead, but…

_You were just a fucking **kid.**_

“I see you,” you commented, confidently, “You think you’re some kind of trapeze artist dancing along that train track?”

Morgan followed your line of sight, his flashlight catching the bomber.

“What’s the point of all this?” you questioned firmly.

“You will lose in the end.”  He was confident.  You weren’t surprised.  He really believed in _whatever_ cause he was serving.

“You’ll either be dead or in a bunker being _heavily_ interrogated by the morning, I wouldn’t say that’s _losing._ ”

“You wanna know why?”  That little smirk was enough to make you _want_ to kill him right then and there.  “Because you _fear_ what we _embrace.”_

_Shit._

“No!”  You surged forward to try to stop the bomber from placing one foot on the second train track, but Morgan wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to the opposite side of the tunnel, pulling your much smaller form to safety as you scrunched your eyes shut and Morgan looked in the opposite direction.

There went any chance at getting real answers.

 

********

 

It didn’t make sense.

_It didn’t make any sense._

All the targets they had to chose from, all the people at their disposal, and this cell chose a _single_ SUV?  The bombing wasn’t anywhere near any of the previous shootings.  Homeland Security teams had even checked the previous scenes and found nothing.  Spencer kept looking at the map in front of him, struggling to figure out, before your voice – something you’d said just earlier that day – filtered through it all.

_“They have a specific target in mind, either a person or place…”_

“They’re not attacking a place…” he spoke quietly and _eerily_ calm as it fell into place, “They’re after a _person._ ”

 

********

 

You’d managed to reach through to Emily as you and Morgan made your way to St. Barclay’s hospital, “Put me on speaker phone.  We have a problem.”

Emily didn’t ask, lowering her cell to put you on speaker phone to address the rest of the team.

“They’re not targeting a place – “

 _“They’re targeting a person, but we have no idea who it is, or who they are.”_   Leave it to Spencer to be able to catch up to you.

 _“These are smart and well-educated kids, hand-picked and trained to be martyrs.  They’re not gonna be on any government file and they won’t have rap sheets,”_ Rossi continued the conversation, adding to thee struggle of just identifying even the _dead_ unsubs

_“Hotch and Kate are at St. Barclay’s hospital.”_

You paused when you heard JJ, informing the rest of you that Agent Joyner was in surgery while Hotch was in the ER, and that was all well and good but…the blockade was still up when you and Morgan returned to the car…

“We’re on our way now,” Morgan brought you out of your brief silence, leaning over just a bit to make sure he was heard.

 _“The media’s reporting this as a failed attack on 26 Federal Plaza,”_ Emily filled in, giving you a quick rundown of what you’d be dealing with.  Everyone was going to let their guard down, assume it was over, when it wasn’t even close.

_Not yet._

_“Well, it’s not.”_

_“They’re not the only ones,”_ Brustin added to your problems, not because he wanted to but because he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t over, _“Homeland Security feels the same way.”_

“Of course they feel the same way, the alternative is someone shared their secrets and spilled the location of an asset under federal protection,” you scoffed, swaying a little as Morgan made a sharp turn, the siren’s running as he drove through the city.

 _“That’s_ what all of this is about?”

 _“_ They caught our attention, all they’ve done is slowly escalate, but two agents being blown up before they even got in the SUV?  That’s not _memorable_.  They’re clever, and the man in the subway _knew_ first responders weren’t coming in until bomb-techs cleared the area and he was _still_ confident in the plan.  This isn’t over.  I’ve a few calls to make, we’ll update you in a bit.”  You didn’t wait to hang up, dialing another number and raising the phone to your ear.  This was information you were just _barely_ allowed to know, Morgan certainly didn’t have the clearances.  “I was hoping to reach my contacts in _person_ , but clearly that’s not an option anymore.”

 

********

 

You were still on the phone when the others reached the hospital.  Hotch was just as shaken by the fact that the _entire_ profile had been wrong the _entire_ time.  He’d been yelling about his clothes too, the blast caused some acute fractures in his inner ear and his hearing hadn’t completely leveled out.  You were pacing back and forth, FBI vest firmly secured like the rest of the team, as they discussed the case.  You overheard what they were working on, working one angle while you had an old friend – former CIA – running through potential targets in the area as Spencer gave a brief description of the bomb.

It would take nothing less than a Chemical Engineer to build something like that, something that powerful crammed into something no larger than the cell phone in your hand, but it was built to _maim_ not to _kill._   The bomber used his cell phone to set off the bomb, watching and waiting until Hotch and Joyner were _near_ but not _inside_ the car.

“Did you find Sam’s phone?” Hotch questioned as he watched the security footage of the bomb.

“Yes.”

_“We’ve got a classified asset near your location.”_

“How near?” you kept your question low, trying to overhear one conversation while having a completely different one.

“Did he call 911?”

 _“A patient at…St. Barclay’s hospital…_ ”

“No.  He dialed one number six times every few minutes.”

“Any chance we can relocate him?”

_“No.  He’s in surgery now.”_

“St. Barclay’s is the target, there’s a patient here under protection, standard operating procedure should have set them on a strict bypass, but a government agent is more likely to let wounded government agents through and overlook the paramedic.”  You cut into the conversation, hanging up as you stepped closer to the rest of the team.  “The bomb has to be in the ambulance.”

“The ambulance which I drove in here,” Hotch lamented briefly, the same pieces having put themselves together in his own mind as he met with the rest of the team, “Let’s go.”

You took off towards the basement while everyone else took off towards the main desk, where the majority of secret service agents were looking over security feeds, and Morgan took off after you.

“There better be a plan, pretty girl.”

“That bomb is going off one way or another.  We need to lessen the blast and get it somewhere there’s no-one to hurt.”

“I’m guessin’ you’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but this time the bomb’s _conveniently_ already packed up and ready to drive off.  You take the wheel, I’ll do what I can with the bomb.”

 _“Morgan.”_   Garcia’s voice was a godsent at this moment.  If he had to go down, he was happy he’d at least have her looking over him.

_“Where are you?”_

“Not where I wanna be right now.”

_“You sound stressed.”_

You checked the back door for traps before swinging it open as Morgan passed the ID number to the ambulance off to Garcia, asking her to track it.  He slid into the front seat as you started taking pictures of the bomb on your phone.

“Bit early to be worried about _evidence_ , pretty girl.”  The teasing was to keep calm, help treat this like any other case.

“Spencer said a chemical engineer would be the only one capable of building these bombs, and our dear genius has PhDs in both Chemistry and Engineering.”  You texted the photos to Spencer before calling, hearing his panicked tone on the other end as he tried to handle your call while he – and the rest of the team – tactically perused the bomber posing as a paramedic down to the garage in the basement.

_“What the hell are you doing?”_

“You said they’d need a chemical engineer.  I texted you some photos, any chance you’ll have an idea how to delay the blast?  We’re getting the ambulance out of here, but Garcia can only keep the cell towers blocked for – “ you looked towards the front of the ambulance, siren running as Morgan sped through the streets while he stayed on the line with Garcia.

“Three minutes max.”

“I have three minutes until detonation and we’re trying to get to Central Park, any chance you can get me four?”

 _“May-maybe, give me a minute.”_   Spencer pulled away from the phone, you heard him flipping through the pictures without flipping to speaker phone, as you just barely heard Rossi asking just what the hell he was doing.

“I’ve only got the two now, but I’ll do what I can.”

_“Ya-yeah, I know.  Don’t touch the phone, it’ll set the bomb off.  Is there a defibrillator?  The shock could cause overload the electrical system just enough – “_

“To cause a power surge.  You’re bloody brilliant.”  You started filtering through the supplies in the ambulance and yanked the object in question off the shelf.  The bomb makers were clever and prepared, they would have made sure something as silly as a power surge didn’t detonate the bomb or shut the whole thing down, but it would be enough to buy some time.

_“It’ll only buy you a few seconds – “_

“It’s more than we had before.”

_“The whole thing is metal, and shutting off the phone will set the whole thing off – “_

“I’ll figure something out.”

_“Just get the hell out of there.”_

“Not time for that.”

_“What the – it’s **always** the right time to get away from a **bomb**!  [Y/N] just – “_

 

********

 

Spencer went cold, freezing before he tried to call you again.

_“We’re sorry.  The number you have dialed is not available.”_

Hang up.

Try again.

_“We’re sorry.  The number you have dialed is not available.”_

Hang up.

Try again.

_“We’re sorry.  The number you have dialed is not – “_

The unsub slit his own throat.  It wouldn’t make anything better, but there would at least be _some_ peace if they’d been able to take him in alive and get some fucking _answers_.  Instead, there was a dead body and both you and Morgan were off the reservation after driving off in an ambulance rigged to –

“Morgan!” Spencer answered his phone before the first ring had a chance to finish.

_“Sorry about that, dropped my phone on the ambulance and it’s uh…It’s probably resembling that video of that cell in the microwave.”_

Spencer heard Morgan’s exhausted laugh in the background, his voice quiet as he spoke to Garcia over coms.

All eyes were on Spencer as he spoke on the phone, his tense shoulders relaxing as he ran a tired hand through his hair and let go of the breath he was holding.  It was enough to let the rest of them relax.  The both of you were alive, about as safe as you were going to get, and bound to return soon.  Though…this had to be the first time they heard the genius curse _on the job,_ even if he was just muttering it under his breath.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

It was a _really_ good thing the two of you had agreed to forego any romantic relationship.

Just being _friends_ with you was going to be the _death_ of him.


	10. Business As Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working in the BAU was wildly unpredictable. You couldn't even tell when you'd have long periods of no cases, it was odd but it did happen, or a case that seemed to be done by a man who had been dead for a year.
> 
> Business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: Rea’s apartment is based on my idea of a dream apartment. So, Rea has an industrial loft apartment with a massive window with a cushioned bench along the windowsill and a classic but eclectic style and a balcony bedroom.
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cc/ee/59/ccee59fa714cd9361412ba13aef345a8.jpg
> 
> The above link is the inspiration for Rea’s apartment. Because it’s an amazing apartment and I love it and hope I get to live somewhere like that someday.
> 
> We also have hints of grumpy grandpa Rossi because it’s just amazing, Spence saying some adorably dumb shit because he does that sometimes, and some light flirting.
> 
> I also had to type this with my cat using my hand as a pillow. It’s cute and all, but also kind of a pain. My cat is also not a calico. He’s a gray and white (inbred) Himalayan nobody wanted so I told everyone to fuck off, picked up the whiny fluffball, and now he’s my obnoxiously loud attention whore and I love him.
> 
> Also, Pinterest is back! They apologized for the spam-bot and gave me my account back, pretty quick considering some reports I saw said it could take weeks, so take that uncontrollable muse! You had one chance to run wild and you just wanted the same thing I wanted! HA!! Off to my writer’s and CM board!!

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Business As Usual

 

You weren’t injured, but you’d been _told_ to take a few days off anyway.  Something about taking a few days to _cool off_ after driving off in a mobile bomb.  You didn’t argue, though you weren’t exactly sure you _needed_ to cool down.  You spent most of your days painting or sketching, occasionally cooking or baking out of boredom when you weren’t lounging on your couch and catching up on shows you missed due to your busy schedule.

Spencer stopped by pretty regularly, to the point that you just _assumed_ he was sitting on the cushioned bench along the massive arch window, reading his way through the books he brought with him before he started looking through the books you had on your own bookshelves.  What you _hadn’t_ expected was Emily put together a gathering – a surprise gathering at your apartment – to celebrate your 23rd birthday after they’d missed it due to a case.  Spencer had known, you’d noticed his behavior was off when he showed up on that Sunday afternoon dressed for _work_ instead of the jeans and t-shirt he’d normally wear when you hung out on the weekend.

You didn’t ask when he chased you up the stairs to your balcony bedroom to change out of your pajamas.  You’d honestly just gotten up and showered to change into a different set of pajamas.

You had no idea what was going on, you grabbed a comfortable gray cotton dress that flowed freely to your mid-thighs and slipped on a mis-matched pair of brightly colored ankle socks just as Spencer let everyone else into your apartment.

Sneaky little bastard was a _mole._

“Hey guys…” you greeted cautiously, spotting the bags of takeout in Emily and JJ’s arms, the two twelve-packs Morgan was carrying, the bottle of wine and bottle of bourbon Rossi had brought along, the bags of decorations in Penny’s arms, and the white box Hotch was carrying from the bakery down the street.

“Alright, I give, I take it all back.” Morgan admitted to something you didn’t even _know_ as he looked around your industrial loft apartment, from the brick wall on the right-hand side to the thin layer of white plaster falling away from the outer wall, and the freely growing vines along the massive window that you’d managed to care for.  Your bed didn’t seem to be much, a few mattresses on the balcony overlooking the rest of the apartment, with soft sheets and blankets thrown comfortably on top.  The decorative style was a bit eclectic, but the mis-matched antiques just seemed to mesh together into a comforting aura that gave the wide-open and spacious area a homey feeling.

“Take all _what_ back?” you questioned as you carefully took one of the larger bags in JJ’s grasp and placed it along the long kitchen table that had, until this moment, served as nothing more than decoration or a place for your cat to perch.

“Morgan was teasing Spence for spending so much time here, and Spence kept saying you have a really nice apartment that’s great for reading.”  JJ smiled as she looked around the apartment herself, catching the light from the overhead skylights on top of the nearly floor-to-ceiling window that dominated the far side of the apartment, “How did you find this place?”

“I’ve got a friend that used to work in the D.C. Interpol field office, but he got reassigned to London before his lease was up, so he sub-let to me until the lease ran out and signed a new lease,” you explained as you reached into your cupboards for plates and bowls before grabbing some glasses for the bourbon and wine.

“I should have known you got it from a friend,” Emily teased as she pulled some silverware out of the drawer, “You just have connections for _everything.”_

“So, the rumors are true,” Rossi cut in, having left the bottles of alcohol on the table to take a look at the canvas boards leaning back against the wall next to the window, flipping through them before pulling one out that caught his eye.  Morgan had meandered over after putting the beer down, having known about your hobby for a while but never having seen anything but the occasional doodle in the corner of a file or Post-It note.

Based on what Morgan could see, your painting style was just as eclectic.  There were classic sceneries mixed into images that looked more like street art, and even a brightly colored cartoon-style he knew Penelope just _had_ to see.  He picked up the smaller canvas board and brought it over to Garcia, who looked up from cooing over your calico – named Sardine – who had _literally_ demanded to be picked up and loved, and fell in love with the wide-eyed characters, the bright coloring, and the cartoonish scenery that reminded her of an old comic book series her parents liked when they were kids and shared with her in her childhood.

_“Oh my god.”_

You had painted the scenery in Rossi’s hands on a whim years ago, a scenery that had popped into your mind when you were younger, not long after your father was arrested.  You’d felt like there was a nightmare behind you, like your back was pressed against a wall, but that there was still a path ahead.  Down the center was an old stone path lined by an old waist-high stone wall that had been worn down over the years and was missing a few stones here and there.  On either side tall fields of grass were growing and reaching over the top of the wall, while along the horizon there was a nondescript city in the distance backlighted by the setting sun as the star-filled night overtook the sky.  Even though the sun was setting as night took over…you felt… _hope_.  Like the future ahead of you was _yours_.  Like the sun wasn’t setting as much as the night sky was granting you the peace of solitude, of holding your future in your hands, that what you did next was _your_ decision and had nothing to do with your family.

“How much?”

You looked up from carefully placing some Chicken Pad Thai next to your egg roll and white rice.  The question had caught you by surprise and it took you a moment to register that the question was directed towards you, “What?”

“How much for the painting?” he clarified, looking _dead serious_ , which also caught you off guard, “It’s good work.  _Really_ good.”

You could _feel_ Spencer silently taunting that he _told you so_ without even looking at you.  You snapped a look at him, one that clearly said _‘shut the fuck up,’_ before turning back to the senior profiler.

“You can have it, I really don’t have anything planned for them…they sort of just sit there…” you looked over to Penny, who had looked up from the pink and yellow painting of big-eyed little characters, her own eyes wide open, “You can have that one too, if you want.”

“You’re _joking_.”

Hotch looked up from cutting the cake, his hearing hadn’t completely recovered, and Emily had nudged him before nodding to the scene that was growing more and more amusing by the second.  Hotch looked from Dave, to you, and back to Dave with an amused smirk.

“I don’t think she’s joking, Dave.”

“I don’t care.  I’m paying for the damn thing.  I’m not letting her throw money down the drain just because she’s a dumbass.”

 

********

 

You hadn’t the faintest idea what Rossi did with the painting after he _made_ you take money for it, all you knew was you took the money and went shopping with it.  On the way to the jet you’d teased him by thanking him for your new black ankle-high heeled boots, and then explaining you got them from an _outlet store_ and they were _on sale._   Normally that wouldn’t bother _anyone_ , but for Rossi you might as well told him you shot his dog and set his mansion on fire.

Payback for forcing you to let him pay you when you just wanted to _give_ him the fucking paining.

You were half-tempted to tell him you were wearing a pair of mismatched socks decorated with Marvel superheroes, it just wasn’t possible to see the small ankle-socks under your boots, but you felt like that was a _bit_ far.  Though, to be fair, talking him down had been a bit of an event.  You’d thrown out the idea of $50, that would cover the supplies and allow you to get some more supplies before you forgot, and then he just stared you down long enough that _you_ felt a bit unnerved.  You were lucky you’d managed to talk him down to a few _hundred_ after Hotch stepped in.s

This case was a _weird_ one, that was for sure.

The latest victim, Delilah Grennen, was bludgeoned and raped in her home, located in lower Canaan, Ohio.  She was staged, facing up with her arms folded across her chest, and stabbed repeatedly post-mortem.  The murder resembled that of a man known as the _Angel Maker_ who had been executed exactly a year before, but that still wasn’t the strangest part.

The strangest part was semen was found at the scene, and it was a DNA match for Cortland Bryce Ryan.

A.K.A the _Angel Maker._

You tucked your bag away and sat down at the end of the couch to talk with the others, after taking off your black blazer and leaving you in your loose low-cut blue t-shirt and the black camisole underneath.  You’d clipped a hairclip to one of the belt loops of your black skinny jeans and snatched it to pull your long hair back.  The usual discussion you’d all have on the flight to a case seemed normal enough, started out with pointing out the differences between Ryan and the copycat.  The current unsub was weaker, Ryan beat his victims to death with his bare hands while this unsub needed to use a blunt instrument.  Then Rossi brought up the _elephant_ in the room.

“That’d be the elephant with the dead man’s DNA,” Morgan looked over the back of his seat to talk directly to Rossi, mostly to silently ask if this was _really_ necessary.

“Well, obviously someone planted the semen on the victim.”  Ryan was dead, Hotch was confident in that fact, and thus the elephant didn’t need to be discussed.

“ _In_ the victim,” Morgan corrected, adding in an unpleasant detail.

“That’s _one_ theory.”  All attention was brought to Spencer, if there was some other possibility, _he’d_ be the one to know, asking what he was talking about made perfect sense.  Then he went and _answered,_ “Well, think about who shares the exact DNA makeup of another person.”

“Reid, you’re not _seriously_ floating around the idea of an evil twin, are you?”  Morgan wasn’t asking as much as he was silently praying the answer to that question was _no._   The kid was _so_ smart, but his youth could make him say things that were _so_ stupid.

“No, I’m not.”

_Oh, thank god._

“I’m floating the idea of an _eviler_ twin.  Traditionally the concept is – _ow!”_

Nobody had noticed you’d rolled up a few nearby papers until you snapped it against Spencer’s nose, catching him by surprise more than harming him.  Though, you did catch _everyone’s_ attention when you did that, breaking the awkward silence as JJ began to snicker and Emily barely held back her own giggles.

“You’re supposed to be the _smart_ one, and when you say shit like that you make the rest of us look like baboons with guns.”

 

********

 

You left for the crime scene with Hotch and Spencer, meeting Sheriff Dobson who – to his credit – hadn’t waited for a second victim before contacting JJ as he’d been deeply involved in the last investigation as well.  It was an almost idyllic town, just barely larger than what you expected the fictional _Mayberry_ was.  Even the home of the victim fit that cliché, only missing the picket fence around the yard.

“Before Cortland Ryan, this town hadn’t seen a homicide in over 30 years.  He didn’t just kill those six women, he killed a way of life,” the sheriff filled the three of you in on what kind of nightmare this was for the town, respectful that you were the experts but also aware you weren’t from anywhere _near_ the area, “Now this thing’s got people thinkin’ he’s come back.”

“They don’t really think that, do they?” Spencer asked as the four of you stepped into the last victim’s home.

“No, surely they’ve caught onto the fact it’s all an _eviler_ twin,” you deadpanned as you pulled your sunglasses off and tucked them into the pocket of your blazer, catching the unamused look from Spencer as _well_ as the stern look from Hotch that _now was not the time._

“Let’s stick to the facts, were there signs of forced entry?” Hotch distracted the sheriff from your banter with Reid.  The two of you already got looks because you were just _young_.  There was nothing wrong with banter, but there were times your banter with the doctor was borderline _flirting_ and neither of you seemed to notice _._   It hadn’t reached a point where he’d have to sit the two of you down and just ask you to keep professionalism in mind when you’re around locals, agents outside of the BAU, or higherups.  Whatever happened between the two of you _outside_ of the job wasn’t _technically_ Hotch’s problem, not as your _boss_ anyway, as long as it didn’t effect your ability to work together.  He doubted it would, and as a _friend_ he had his own opinions he kept _firmly_ to himself, but there was nothing _against_ a relationship or just a friendship resembling the one between Morgan and Garcia.

“None that we could find, but whoever killed Delilah Grennen opened up every window in this house before he left,” Sheriff Dobson filled you in on the most disturbing part of the scene as you and Spencer looked around the area, getting a better grasp on Delilah’s profile before going to the crime scene.

“That was a signature from the previous murders,” Spencer murmured just loud enough for the rest of you to hear, mostly thinking aloud than anything else.

“A detail we never released to the public.”  Sheriff Dobson was sure to stress that point, especially it was the part that bothered him the most.

“And it came out at the trial?”  Hotch had been a prosecutor for years, he knew how things went with information kept from the public, there was a high chance that was where this new unsub heard about that signature.

“No sir.  Prosecution had Ryan nailed 9 ways to Sunday.  Didn’t need it.  So, I’m hard-pressed to know how this copycat knew about those windows.”

“That might work in our favor,” you admitted as you finished looking around and returned to Hotch’s side to head back to the scene of the murder, “It narrows down the suspect pool to fans who studied the first six killings, very few people are going to know this case as well as we do.”

“Better, if he had actual contact with Ryan while he was incarcerated,” Spencer added, speaking with the sheriff as you and Hotch looked into the bedroom as the crime scene techs continued to process the scene.  It wasn’t often that the team was called in _this_ early and were able to hit the ground running.  After that last case in New York City, you were honestly _grateful_ for a case like this.

It was a strange case, sure, but so far everything was going _right,_ as opposed to the last case where everything went so _very_ wrong.

“We sent one of our agents to Hawkesville prison to look into it,” Hotch jumped in before the sheriff had a chance to be worried about lost time that could have been spent rifling through Ryan’s contacts with the outside world.

“And the semen?”

Ah, there’s that elephant again.

“Prisons are designed to prevent things being smuggled in, smuggling out some semen and keeping it on ice is far from impossible.”  That was, all joking aside, the official stance of everyone on the team.

“There’s an entire cottage industry based on serial killer effects and memorabilia, you can find absolutely everything if you find the right people,” Spencer filled the sheriff in on that unfortunate fact as you and Hotch continued to stalk around the house, the later bringing up the _real_ question you were trying to answer.

“The question is, is this a one-time commemoration, or is it just the beginning?”

 

********

 

You were on your way to the sheriff’s office when you got the call, a local newspaper got a letter from someone claiming to be the Angel Maker.  The original letter was safely tucked in an evidence bag while Spencer compared it to a photocopy of one of the original letters.  Not everyone had returned to the meeting room you were using as a base of operations, but that didn’t exactly matter.  Either way, Spencer would be the one looking over the letter and comparing it to letters you _knew_ were from the Angel Maker.

“I give you a legacy, a breath of life from the Angel Maker himself.  Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear,” he read aloud, having been the first of you to get a look at the letter, brow furrowed as he looked at the penmanship of the new letter and one of the originals.

“That’s the last thing people need right now.”  The sheriff was at the end of his rope with this case, that much was clear, and he was likely having flashbacks of the original investigation as a direct result.

“Reid, how’s it compare with the original correspondence?” Morgan questioned, already becoming exhausted with the case just due to the guard he’d had to deal with at Hawkesville and the _boxes_ of letters that did very little to narrow down the suspect pool.

“They share some compelling characteristics,” Spencer remained focused on the letter and the copy as he stepped around you to place both items on the table you were leaning back against, leaning over them as he kept calculating the little details as best he could, “I’d obviously like to look at it under magnification with a better light.”

“ _But?”_   You knew that tone in Spencer’s voice, he was already reaching a conclusion but wanted to look at the evidence in more detail – as was natural for _anyone_ whose view of the world was based so heavily in logic and science – but there wasn’t much time and you could coax that budding conclusion out of him with ease.

“I’d say it’s authentic.”

 

********

 

The town was losing their shit, there was no better way to put it.  A woman named Sela, the mother of one of the previous victims, came to speak with the sheriff when news of the letter broke out.  It was only a matter of time until the entire town found out, standing outside the sheriff’s office to demand answers, and that was what pushed Sheriff Dobson to exhume Ryan’s body that night.

“It’s still a mistake,” you pointed out, reading through one of the _many_ letters Ryan received during incarceration, slowly pacing around the room as you made your way through the box with Spencer and Morgan.  You’d managed to sort through and separate the one-time letters from letters sent by the same person _repeatedly._   Spencer had already made his way through _most_ of the letters, you and Morgan weren’t even trying to keep up, but at least you were still trying to make your way through a fair amount of the letters while Morgan had just given up and picked up some dinner for the three of you.

Dinner, and the tea you’d lamented not having after forgetting to get another box for your go-bag.

Your relationship with Morgan had changed after New York City, and it wasn’t hard to notice.  Trust was something hard-earned from Morgan.  He would _quickly_ lay his life down for everyone else, but it was a gamble on whether or not he’d put his own life in someone else’s hands.

To be fair, the two of you drove off in a mobile bomb together.  That kind of event tends to change a relationship.

“He’s trying to keep the town calm, they all think the scariest thing they’ve seen in decades cheated death,” Morgan countered the growing debate.  It wasn’t anything heated, but it was still a conflict of views.  Morgan at least understood what the sheriff was trying to do, but you were certain it was a complete mistake.

“Digging up the grave doesn’t guarantee he’s going to _find a body_ ,” you retorted, turning to face Morgan directly as you dropped the latest letter you were going through onto the _read_ pile and picked up your tea as you added _“Trust me_ , I’ve _been there_ and _let me tell you_ that North Korea has some _explaining to do.”_

That _last_ comment even made Spencer look up, half-way through a letter, and silently question you.  He was well aware that you likely couldn’t give _all_ the answers, but maybe you could give _some_ of them.

“It’s not personal, he was labeled _eliminated_ long before I was even old enough to _drive_.  I just need to know how the bastard pulled it off.”

Spencer hung his head as his shoulders shook with his growing laughter as Morgan tossed his head back and laughed himself.

“He fuckin’ _Houdini’d_ out of the box, he might _actually_ be a _wizard.”_

Spencer sat back, looking up at you _wildly_ amused by your defensive explanations, but also just _fond_ of you as his friend.  Even through all the darkness you’d doubtlessly faced before, and all the darkness you faced with the team, you were so quick to humor and brought at least _some_ light back whenever and wherever you could.  Even through his laughter he had to ask just _one_ thing of you.  He knew the exact request was impossible, but all he really wanted was for you to keep that light.  That humor that brought laughter in the darkness.

“Don’t _ever_ change.”


	11. Cracking The Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes for this chapter...YET.
> 
> Mwahahaha!!!

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Cracking The Code

 

The second you learned Ryan’s coffin was empty, you felt like _shit_ for that little joke you’d made only minutes earlier.

It was a _hell_ of an issue, though, and that was why Hotch had _both_ you and Rossi talk to the doctor who pronounced Ryan dead.

It was the equivalent of using a chainsaw on a piece of wet paper, but considering the circumstances Hotch felt it was necessary.  The two of you, together in an interrogation, even planned your _exact_ placement and movements down to the letter.  Rossi took a seat behind the desk in the nearly barren office and stared down the doctor, while you sat next to the doctor with a sympathetic face and big blue eyes.  It was your own mix on the _good cop/bad cop_ routine, a cliché that was very effective with the right people.

“Cortland Ryan is _dead_ ,” Dr. Hagen insisted, urgently, just as haunted by this as the rest of the town, “There’s no two-ways about it.”

“I understand, doctor, but with recent events we need to be thorough,” you spoke gently, sitting at an angle that allowed you to face the doctor and tilting your head while keeping a firm control on your facial features.  He needed to feel you were sympathetic, that he would be safe telling you anything, while Rossi made it clear the doctor wasn’t leaving until he gave the _entire_ story.  “We were told there were irregularities during the execution, and that has the entire town spooked.”

“His heart was stopped, his pupils were nonresponsive.  _Trust me_.  This is not the first execution I’ve pronounced at.”  He wasn’t as defensive as he was just _avoiding_ the topic.  He wanted to get out, he wanted to stop talking about that day.  Something _very_ specific about that day had gotten to him.

“But it was the _last_ ,” Rossi pointed out the evidence that something _had_ happened, “Did something happen that day to prompt your resignation from the Corrections Department?”

Dr. Hagen was silent, like he was reliving a nightmare in his mind’s eye, haunted by the events of the day as he spoke.  “Everyone dies different.  Ryan went hard, is all.”

“Doctor, we need to know what happened so we can put this to rest,” you pushed gently, strands of your hair falling over your shoulder as you leaned forward, cutting into the memories that haunted the doctor even after an entire year.

“After we cycled the drugs, we realized he was still alive.  We weren’t prepared for that.”

Rossi was under the impression that was impossible, so he had to ask, “How is that possible?”

“The catheter dislodged.  We reinserted it, started the potassium chloride.”  Dr. Hagen was staring off into space now, focused on one spot of the desk without actually seeing it as he was too deeply buried in his memories.  You wished you didn’t have to ask this of him, but there was no other option.  “He started shaking…spitting…”

“He was suffocating.”  Rossi brought the doctor out of what could have been a waking nightmare by summarizing events.  The doctor nodded tensely before continuing.

“Catheter failed again…took him almost an _hour_ to die…almost as if something were keeping him here…”  The doctor actually believed that, he was just as spooked as the rest of the town, and that was _blatantly_ clear with his next comment.  “He said this was going to happen, you know.”

“That he’d come back?” you questioned with a furrowed brow as the mystery only grew.

“Those were his last words…”

 

********

 

“The whole town is _determined_ to believe Ryan is back from the dead,” you huffed as you returned to the office space used as the base of operations, Spencer looking up from the complete medical report on Ryan’s execution and previous medical examinations to try and pinpoint a reason for the troubled execution.  You practically collapsed into one of the chairs around the smaller round table before reaching into the box of unread letters and digging out one that hadn’t been read yet.

“Death tends to be the one thing everyone is the _most_ superstitious about, whether it’s the idea of an afterlife or the idea that someone can _cheat_ it.  Human kind has been obsessed with it for _centuries_ , Ancient Egyptian mummification was far from the first civilization to glorify death.”

“They were the _best_ at it though.”  It was a casual comment as you made your way through the letter, tossing it and grabbing a new one, “Even I was fascinated as a kid, and I dropped a _lot_ of money just to see a temporary exhibit _once_.  To this day I still get excited when there’s an exhibit nearby.  Still, I can’t really fault anyone for being fascinated by death, it’s consistently the _one_ thing we don’t have any real answers to.  The unknown is just scary to people.”

Spencer looked up from the file, almost desperate to find something and failing, as the _tone_ of your last comment caught his attention.  “It doesn’t scare you?”

“The unknowns of life?  No.  The unpredictability of people and how disastrously dangerous even the _sane_ ones are as life is generally safe until you add in _other people?_   _Absolutely._ ”

“That almost sounded like _sage advice.”_

“Well that’s just mean.”

“You _are_ the one that hopped in an ambulance carrying a _bomb_.”

…He had a point there…

 

********

 

The unsub’s supplier, a guard at Hawkeville, was found dead, but there were other things left around the crime scene that gave a few hints into why the profile seemed to be so far _off._   That was mostly the _Viagra_ that Rutledge had taken just before he was murdered.

The unsub wasn’t just a _fan_ or an _admirer_.

It was a woman in _love_ with Ryan.

After Morgan stopped by Hawkeville, Rutledge figured out who the unsub was and tried to blackmail her.  That lasted only long enough for her to find a way to kill him at his own apartment, likely because he was blackmailing her for sex.  That wasn’t out of the ordinary for Rutledge, after Garcia looked him up it was a matter of _seconds_ before she found out he was transferred from a women’s prison for leveraging sexual favors from the inmates.  The unsub, however, wasn’t going to stand for that.  She had already killed one woman, she had no problem killing someone else.

This wasn’t just a fan, but a _groupie._

Woman like this were generally well-educated and attractive.  They could also fall into a few different types, the reformer seeking to help the guilty find redemption, but this unsub had a pretty intense case of hybristophilia.  She had an _intense_ attraction to violent men, criminals specifically, because they made her feel powerful.

She likely had a kit kept prepared for every murder, a _rape_ kit which included the instrument used to simulate the sexual assault along with implant the preserved semen, and the murder weapon and screwdriver used to stab the victims post-mortem were likely kept in that same kit as well.  Getting a list of women that had repeatedly visited Ryan wasn’t the issue, it was going through the _extensive_ list.  One woman had even visited Ryan more than 70 times.

That was specifically _Shara Carlino._   She was a marketing _VP_ before she moved to the small town for an outside sales job, commission only, a massive pay cut all because Hawkeville Prison was just outside her window.

“I don’t know if I should feel sorry for these women or have them all committed,” you hung up the landline you were using to reach out to a few of the woman on the _extensive_ list.  “The man is a sexual sadist and a _murderer._   How does that not _immediately_ give _anyone_ the creeps?”

“He’s slick, charming, knows how to charm these women,” Morgan, gently, defended the women even though he didn’t get it either.  Sure, he understood the _technical_ aspects, but actually understanding why they did what they did?  There was no chance he’d _ever_ understand that.

“Which brings up my next question, how does anyone trust a charming person?  Every time someone trusts me because I _charm_ them into it I just feel bad that they’re that _naïve.”_

“Really?  Cause Boy Wonder got your number.”  Morgan nodded towards the meeting room where Reid was working, the older agent’s smirk confident in the fact he’d cornered you.

“ _Exactly my point_.  If it had been you, I would have chucked that flower in the bin and left without a word.  I gave him my number because he was clearly genuine, not because he talked me into it, and now he’s one of my best friends.”  You were confident as you pulled the receiver off the hook and looked up the next number on the list.  “You all think I have trust issues, but I’m confident in the fact they’re _survival skills.”_

You turned back to your own work fast enough to miss the way Morgan’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out just what _flower_ you were talking about.

 

********

 

Another victim was found, a woman named Maxine Chandler, who had lived in her house her entire life.  She ran a daycare, the man who called 911 was dropping off his toddler for the day and found Maxine in her bedroom.  There were no signs of forced entry and all the windows were left open, but there was a chance to compare the victims and find at least some commonalities to build victimology while you were following that _Dove_ lead.

Shara had admitted she received a letter from Ryan that wasn’t meant for her, it was addressed to someone Ryan called his _Dove_ , and Shara was right.  While most of Ryan’s letters outward were poetic, these ones read like they were written by a young adolescent with a crush on his babysitter.  Looking at the letters he wrote to Shara, it didn’t make any sense –

“Fucking hell,” you swore under your breath, stepping around the table and leaning over Spencer’s shoulder to look at the letters to _Dove_ and read one aloud.

“Here’s another one to Dove – November 2, 2006.”

“Same thing?” Rossi questioned, pacing back and forth as he felt comfortable letting the two _children_ of the BAU dash around and filter through the endless amounts of letters in an attempt to figure out what the hell was going on.  Rossi wouldn’t be _helpless_ , but he felt no guilt about stepping back and just letting the two of you work together almost _terrifyingly_ well.

“Yeah, _‘Weather is good here, out in the garden all day.  Birds land don the fence.  The moon is full now.”_   Spencer handed the photocopy to Rossi before looking back down at the letters, the two of you shooting each other looks as you pointed to specific spots in the _horrendous_ prose you’d noticed and comparing it to one of the letters to Shara.  He simply responded by reaching across the table for another letter to Dove he knew held the same _exact_ phrase, placing it next to the other two directly in front of him, picking up minute details you weren’t even going to _try_ looking for.

“He got an hour a day in a concrete yard.  There was no garden, there were no birds,” Rossi commented as he stepped around to the side of the table, looking over the organized letters, “Death row haiku…I mean, you have to _try_ to write this bad.”

You stood upright, twirling a loose strand of hair as you waited for Spencer to calculate the specific details of the code.  Just because you _recognized_ a code didn’t mean you knew what the hell it was.  It was a simple matter of comparing writing styles, and that was something you’d picked up at _uni_ , it was the actual _code cracking_ you weren’t about to attempt without someone guiding you through it.  You were _well_ aware of your limitations.

“Because he was, it’s a code, we just need to crack it,” you heaved a heavy sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you admitted this was going to be more of a _waiting_ game than anything else, “Well, wait for _Spencer_ to crack it.”

“The steganographic method would allow him to write letters that don’t appear enciphered, the real message would be hiding in plain sight.”  Spencer looked back up at you and Rossi, having figured out the _method_ but not the exact code itself.  Though, while _he_ knew what the steganographic method was…

“What do you need to crack it?”  Rossi was hoping it was something like a specific book, or more of Ryan’s writings, or something along those lines.

“The ability to clone myself and a year’s supply of Adderall.”

“Well,” you slipped off your white cardigan and tied your hair up, “You’ve got an ex-spy and a coffee wench that can afford to get us decent coffee from a cafe.”

_“Coffee wench?”_

Rossi wasn’t as amused at the joke as you were.

“Well, go on, and don’t forget the biscuits.”


	12. The Things People Do For Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes this time.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Things People Do For Love

 

After figuring out the symbolism of the stab wounds, the images resembling the nine constellations of the _Heavenly Waters_ and leaving one more murder to complete the _Angel Maker’s_ work, the team gathered around the boards filled with…whatever it was Spencer did to crack the code.

“How’d you crack it?”  The last thing Rossi remembered was a _mess_ on the dry-erase board, both Ryan’s and Dove’s letters scattered all over the place, and you constantly handing Reid whatever letter he was asked for – specifying them by date, or enlarging the letters at the photocopier.  Then there was that moment you paused and looked at Reid like he’d lost his mind, unbeknownst to Rossi you’d just been asked to look up a _very_ specific 16th century book.

“We figured out he got the code from the Aryan Brotherhood, he was on death row with multiple high-ranking members,” you answered, hands tucked into the back pockets of your jeans as you looked at the cypher on the dry-erase board, “After that, I haven’t the faintest clue.”

“He got the code from the _Aryans_?” JJ clarified, concerned that they’d have to deal with the Aryans at some point.  She’d be the one in charge of that, and she’d also be the one in charge of handling the fallout if that fact leaked the sheriff’s department.

“Either that, or he read a lot of 16th century literature,” Spencer balanced the odds, and explained why he needed that book you could only get in eBook form, only serving to further frustrate the genius, “The Aryans liked to use a cypher based on a 400-year-old code written by Sir Francis Bacon.”

“So, it’s a binary code?”  That was what sense Morgan could make of it.

“Yeah.  Bacon used 21-letter alphabet, this one’s 24.  Each letter is assigned a bit string of 5 binary digits.  This combination yields 32 possible encodings.  Normally you’d use a computer to run all these combinations, but it was just quicker to do it long hand until I found the right one.”

You’d caught the look on Hotch’s face, to be fair most everyone was either staring at Spencer in amazement or looking at the cracked cypher like it was an alien language, and _really_ needed to crack a joke.  The unit chief had been having a hell of a few _months_ , and he had clearly _wooed_ the doctor into signing the forms to let him return to field duty.  You nudged him with your elbow, causing him to look down at you, subconsciously facing you as he adjusted to his – hopefully – temporary hearing loss.

“Did you get any of that?  Because I was here the _entire_ time and I’m still confused.”

Spencer was about to look back at you and retort, but Emily had taken him by surprise and poked him in the cheek, rendering him speechless as he leaned away and shot her a look.

“He’s so _lifelike._ ”

You giggled as you made your way back to the copies of the letters and filled in with what you could and held up a stack of the letters for one of the others to look at, “We don’t have all the letters, but it looks like Dove contacted him shortly after the trial.  Looking at the deciphered letters, Spencer wasn’t kidding about them being in love.”

“My dearest Cortland, thank you for writing back to me.  The day the verdict was read, we shared a silent moment…I knew then there was a force willing us together,” Emily read aloud, and the letters continued in that fashion.

_Every time I see you, I feel warmed as if by the sun, and yet I fear if I come too close, I’ll be consumed by your fire._

_Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you.  Already you’ve entered my dreams.  Each time you appear to me, I’m embraced by a feeling of trust and belief, as if I’ve known you all my life._

_As always I am touched by your words, but I long to see you again.  Days pass quietly, one into the next…_

_My dove…_

_I can think of little else…_

_My secret wife…_

_If only they would let us marry…_

_All appeals are lost…_

_I could finally hold your hand…_

_The guards celebrated my defeat by clearing out my cell…_

_Here is my face…_

_Possessions matter little to a condemned man…_

_They die with you, the only man who will ever truly see me._

_But I can’t leave this world before seeing your face one last time._

_I will bring a part of you back into the world, and forever you will watch over us from the stars._

The entire time you read and re-read those letters, it just didn’t make sense.  Not as far as the case was concerned, that much made sense, but the rest of it was…you just didn’t know.  It’s not like you were _inexperienced._   You’d dated, you’d had relationships, but you couldn’t imagine being so emotionally smitten with someone for all of… _this_ to make sense.  Even ignoring the fact that one of them was a _serial killer_ , it baffled you.

Maybe it was simply because you’d never been in love, you’d be the first to admit you’d never experienced _love_ , but you’d never been in a situation where you thought you were missing out.  Or at least faced with the fact that love isn’t nearly as similar to _dating_ as you’d thought.

“What do you think she meant by that last line?” Emily asked, looking up from reading through one of the letters now that there was finally enough to give some answers, “ _I will bring a part of you back.”_

“The murders?” Morgan suggested, “She brought him back to life?”

“What if she was pregnant with his child?” JJ suggested, the changes in her own life, her future as a mother drawing closer, changing how she looked at a few things.

“That would explain why she changed from singular to plural.”  You looked over to Spencer, the two of you had been wondering about that when you noticed it, looking over the deciphered letters, but there were so many more to decipher and read through you didn’t have time to put much thought into it yet.

“ _’Watch over us from the stars,’”_ he quoted from one of the later letters written shortly before Ryan’s execution.

“She used the semen samples to plant evidence, not to get pregnant,” Rossi brought up the semen found in the victims, that the woman’s goal was to finish the Angel Maker’s work, not get pregnant.

“What if she did both?” Hotch countered, memories of Haley’s excitement over her own pregnancy flashing through his mind.  He had been excited himself, of course, but for a time it seemed like all their struggles were behind them.  They weren’t, the fallout was delayed and brought pain to _both_ of them, but that would never erase the memories of better times.

He couldn’t tell if that made things worse or better…

“If she had his kid, we might be able to track her through birth records.”  Emily had a point, there was something good out of this revelation, but also a problem.

“That’s assuming she put his name on the birth certificate.”

“Agent Hotchner,” Sheriff Dobson stepped in, a recent call catching his attention as it was likely related to the case, “We just got a report of a woman attacked in her house by a female assailant.”

“Is she okay?” JJ worried, specifically for the victim.  They were _so close_ to preventing the final murder, if they were too late…

“Sounds like it, but I can’t say the same for the attacker, though.”  The sheriff released a heavy sigh as he knew it would take time to help the town recover from this, even after the unsub was caught, “Neighbors heard cries for help, pretty soon half the block was on her.”

“Alright, Prentiss and I will go to the scene.  Morgan, Rossi, stay here in case we need you, we’ll call when we know more.  Reid, [Y/N], JJ, go to the hotel and get some sleep, you can finish decoding the letters and look into local birth records first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

********

 

JJ had been _exhausted_ , joining you and Spencer for a quick pizza before taking off to get some sleep.  You’d considered trying to go to bed early yourself, but you’d had three coffees and two cups of tea just in the last four hours and the caffeine high had yet to pass.  It was _passing_ , but mixed with the high caused by the fact you’d spent all day running around helping Spencer crack that cypher before spending hours deciphering the letters it would take a bit longer for you to get to sleep.

Eating dinner at the small table in your room allowed Spencer to notice a few things about your behavior he hadn’t noticed before.  Your habits were different from your habits at home, as to be expected, and the conclusions were…

You utilized every lock on the hotel door _every_ time, kept the bathroom door, closet door, and shower curtain _wide_ open to check as you passed by, even lightly kicked under the bottom of the bed like you were _checking_ to make sure the boarding along the bottom was still there.  Cleaning service had opened the blinds, something you _quickly_ changed when you were close enough.  You discarded your jacket and boots, revealing the knife you had neatly sheathed at your back and likely kept hidden under a jacket or loose shirt – thus explaining why you were always wearing one or the other.

You felt comfortable in your apartment because it was your _home base._   Because you _knew it_ , but thinking back to the view outside that window…it offered a massive view of the surrounding area without any nearby buildings tall enough to offer a view of your own home.  It was wide-open, you’d be able to get anywhere you needed quickly no matter who was cornering you, and Spencer had the sneaking suspicion that you had weapons tucked in hiding places.

It was all small things, things you did so casually that Spencer wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t begun spending so much time with you in a place you felt comfortable.

Looking back, that was why you were never able to sleep on the jet.  No matter how tired you were, you stayed _wide awake_.  Sure, you felt comfortable at your own home, but…

Did you ever feel _safe?_

_Ever?_

 

********

 

JJ and Penny had managed to narrow the list down to nine suspects, a few of them had moved out or died before the beginning of the year, but the name _Chloe Kelcher_ sounded familiar not just to Sheriff Dobson, but to _Spencer_ too.  A brief look into one of the files tucked into a nearby box listed her as one of the _jurors_ of the original trial.

Capital punishment cases require a _unanimous_ decision for the defendant to be found guilty.  This woman found him guilty, they _both_ knew that, and they were still… _’in love?’_

It completely _baffled_ you.

“Well, it’s one thing to have a relationship with a killer, it’s completely different to _become_ one,” Sheriff Dobson commented as you, Spencer, Morgan, and Hotch discussed the newly found prime suspect.

“There might have been an incident that prompted the transformation,” Spencer explained, most of the unsubs you dealt with _were_ living normal lives until something or someone triggered their transformation.

“I think I know what it was,” Hotch answered as he looked over the file, Garcia had already looked up and sent over any relevant files for the nine women on the list, and the reason Chloe Kelcher snapped was right there in writing.  He handed you the file for you to look over, feeling Spencer peer over your shoulder to take a look himself.

“The birth date and death dates are within minutes of each other, the baby died almost immediately after birth.”  You closed the file and looked up the others as you filled in the rest, “She was using the baby to deal with Ryan’s execution, holding onto the fact she was _‘bringing part of him back,’_ but when she lost the baby she was lost in grief for her child and the man she loved…I hate to say this but if she already knew every detail of the previous murders, it’s possible finishing Ryan’s work was always the plan, but she planned on the child to do this when he grew up.  Without anything to live for after the last murder, she’s likely planning on committing suicide when she’s finished.”

“How long have we got until she kills someone else?”  It was a routine question, you were all going to be working at top speed either way, but Morgan and Hotch needed to know if they needed to get a SWAT team on standby.

“She’s reaching the end of the ritual, she’s probably desperate to be reunited with Ryan and their son, she might even be devolving,” Spencer ran through the facts and figures as he put together a likely timeline, “Hours, maybe.  She’ll want to finish this tonight.”

“We need to split up and search for her.  Morgan, get Rossi and meet the sheriff and I at Kelcher’s home.  Reid, [L/N], update JJ and find Prentiss, we’ll let you know what we find.”  Hotch gave out the order, splitting up the team temporarily.  The building profile around Kelcher meant having everyone trained in advanced tactical infiltrations or cleared to use heavy weaponry was overkill, and you worked most comfortably with Reid and Prentiss – that was hard to miss.

You worked well with every member off the team, and you were hardly _uncomfortable_ with them, but it was Hotch’s job to know how everyone worked, what their talents were, what their failings were.  As Prentiss drove you and Reid through town to meet up, Hotch called to let you know Kelcher was already on her way to her last victim, and where she was going.

“Morgan, go around back and wait until [Y/N] gets here.”  Morgan wasn’t about to argue with Hotch’s plan.  Over your time at the BAU it was made almost _disturbingly_ clear you were adept at stealth, and you were going to get there about the same time as the sheriff’s deputies. “Sheriff, I need you to bring all your vehicles around to the front, facing forward with lights off.  And I need a megaphone.”

When Emily parked the car, the three of you practically launched of the suburban and met up with Hotch as you finished securing your FBI vests, who quickly sent you around the back of the house to meet up with Morgan.  You were still tying your hair up into a messy ponytail as you made your way around the house, but they still quickly lost sight of you.

“Morgan,” you whispered as you reached him as he looked for the window Kelcher had used to break in.  He barely kept from jumping, registering your voice quickly as you crouched down next to him.

“I haven’t found the window yet, but we’re right next to the bedroom.  Looks like Kelcher is already back there.”  Morgan waited as you peeked through the window, waiting to see if you had any ideas, and watching as you pulled your knife out and jammed it into the two planes of the window, sliding it across to unlatch the lock.  Following your lead, though waiting until you tucked your knife away, he slowly and carefully opened the window and made sure it stayed open as you carefully climbed inside before moving a few things aside to make sure neither Morgan nor the potential victim bumped into them on the way out.

You doubted they’d be able to pull off what Morgan would later call _Cirque de Soule shit_ you did to get inside without knocking over any of the plants lining the windowsill.  You let Morgan take the lead, he had a better idea of the plan than you did, and waited for his signal to move.  You saw the lights filter into the windows, a siren briefly clicking on and off to make sure they caught Kelcher’s attention, and you heard Emily through the megaphone as she addressed the unsub – _buying you time to get thee victim the hell out of there._

_“Chloe, this is the FBI.  We know you’re in there, and we know what you’re trying to do.”_

You hadn’t heard footsteps pass by the door, so you waited.

_“I know you think that finishing what Cortland started will bring you closer to him, but first you should know who he really was.  I know you thought you were special, but the truth is, the same things he wrote to you, he wrote to many other women.  I’ve seen the letters.”_

There was a barely noticeable pause as Emily looked at the note Spencer had scribbled down, recalling the exact words of the letters off the top of his head.

_“Dozens read the same lines: ‘Without the flesh, there is only the soul.  You don’t need to touch me to feel the love I have for you.’  Does that sound familiar?”_

This was hardly the first infiltration for either you or Morgan, and you remained stationary as you waited for Kelcher to make her way back to the front door.

_“Cortland wasn’t who you thought he was.  He was a narcissist he wasn’t capable of loving anyone but himself.”_

Chloe’s steps were slow and purposeful, but just loud enough that you heard her as she passed by.  Morgan waited a few beats before opening the door and aiming his gun down the hall Chloe had just walked down as you made your way to the victim.

_“’Ever since your visit, I’m crazed with thoughts of you.  Already you have entered my dreams.’  Chloe, he wasn’t capable of loving anyone but himself.  To Carla Kettinger, he wrote, ‘Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you.  Already you have entered my dreams.  Each time you appear to me I am embraced by a feeling of trust and belief, as if I’ve known you all my life.  It’s clear to me now that you are my fate.  We are destined to be together.”_

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.  We’re getting you out of here, but you _have_ to keep quiet,” you whispered as you cut her free before guiding her back down the hall, keeping her head down so she could hide behind Morgan’s towering frame until the three of you slipped back into the bathroom. 

_“And when I am gone, that will not change.  I will live on in you.  In death, our union will be eternal.  All appeals are lost.  The guards celebrated my defeat by clearing out my cell.  Possessions mean little to a condemned man, but I cannot leave this world without seeing your face one last time”_

You pulled out your own gun and took point guarding the door as Morgan holstered his own gun and climbed out before helping the victim climb out.  You stayed on your toes, taking silent steps back as you neared the window before quickly turning and almost _diving_ out.

“ _It isn’t your fault that he made you feel these things.  It isn’t your fault that your baby died.”_

The three of you kept quiet as you made your way back to the front of the house, skirting around the lights and fuss to nestle the victim safely into a marked cruiser until an ambulance could arrive.  The team saw you reemerging from the house, and with the victim safe Emily no longer had to _stall_.

_“It’s over, Chloe.  We have Faye.  You have nowhere to go.”_


	13. All That Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a standoff with a militant compound, you'd pushed Hotch to let you go inside and deal with the issue yourself. You had to. It was the only way you could guarantee both Emily and Spencer would get out alive. 
> 
> You would deal with the aftermath as you needed to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but character growth.
> 
> The hillside overlook I mention is actually based on one not too far from where I live. Some friends and I hang out up there when it’s warm cause we broke but still wanna go out. I don’t actually know why or how it ended up that way, it clearly wasn’t meant to be an overlook, but that’s what it is now.
> 
> You really thought I’d write a former spy and NOT at least touch on the ‘Minimal Losses’ episode? Hell nah. I mean, I didn’t get into the details, but it’s definitely part of the story.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### All That Matters

 

That ending was something _none_ of you saw coming.

Chloe Kelcher was so focused on finishing the work of the man she loved, she didn’t care if it meant she had to _stab_ _herself_ with a _screwdriver_ before committing _suicide by cop._

While you never _slept_ on the jet, you were always part of at least _one_ conversation if others were awake.

You sat alone while the others gathered near the larger table, staring out the window as you seemed to be buried deep in thought.  Spencer excused himself, saying he was grabbing a book from his go-bag, but on his way back to the couch he sat across from you.  He asked if you were okay, and you smiled and claimed you were _‘fine,’_ and _‘just tired after a bizarre case’_ before going back to watching the clouds outside the jet window.  That was clearly a lie, but given his history lying to you about being _fine_ he wasn’t about to push.  He just remained nearby, reading for the duration of the short flight, and smiling as he said he’d see you back at the office the following day, after announced you were heading home to _‘sleep off the case.’_

You were barely home long enough to shower and change, and of course care for Sardine, before heading out.  You didn’t really have _any_ plans, just wandering around the city before getting in your car an taking a drive.  You parked at a hill overlooking the city, the road had been developed for a neighborhood but had been left abandoned after the developers were arrested for running a multi-million-dollar scam.

You sat on the hood of your car, your legs crossed as you just sat and watched as the sun set over the city.  You looked over your shoulder when you found yourself in the headlights of a car driving closer, parking next to yours, but you didn’t make any move other than looking back over the city.  You recognized the car.  Emily pulled a bag off the passenger’s seat before sitting next to you on the hood of your car.  She didn’t say a word, just pulled out a Styrofoam lunch container holding the Chinese takeout she’d picked up for you, a pair of chopsticks secured by the rubber band used to keep the flimsy container shut during transport.  You quietly thanked her, removing the rubber band and separating the chopsticks as you suddenly realized you were _starving_ and hadn’t eaten all day.

“The Kelcher case really threw you off,” Emily called you out, gently, as she’d noticed the way you would pause and furrow your brow in a way she’d only see you do a handful of times.

“The whole thing just baffled me,” you admitted, still confused as you mixed your bourbon chicken with the white rice.  “Death Penalty cases require a unanimous agreement, if she was on the jury she _had_ to have found him guilty, but they fell in love anyway.  To the point that the only way she could keep from losing her _shit_ was having his child, and then when we took away her last victim she stabbed herself _repeatedly_ with a screwdriver.  That’s just…is that what love is like, or were they just _insane?”_

“I dunno.”  Emily shook her head, just as baffled by it as you, and focused on pouring the small packet of soy sauce on her fried rice, “It could be _both,_ but part of being in love is a willingness to do _anything_ you can, all for them.  Some people are just capable of more than others.”

You cracked the seal on the bottle of water Emily had brought for you, looking over the city as Emily’s words sparked a question you’d been trying to _avoid_ asking.

“I dread to think what _I’d_ be willing to do…”

Emily stopped watching what she was doing with her own chopsticks to look up at you, dark eyes soft as she could see the emotional and mental scars of your former service etched on your face.  You kept it hidden, you kept it _all_ hidden, and even _Emily_ only knew bits and pieces of why you’d left MI6 so suddenly.  She tried to ask Clyde, thinking he would know what details could be shared, but even _Clyde_ wasn’t entirely sure.

“Whatever you do, you do it because you think it’s the right thing to do – “

“Yeah, _now_.  Just a year ago I would have killed someone without a second _thought_ just because a superior told me to.  I didn’t think beyond following my mission, my emotions weren’t part of it.  I just…” you looked back down at your food as you absentmindedly mixed your noodles around, like you were _ashamed_ , “What could I become if I let my emotions completely take over like that?”

It’s not like you’d never dated before, but you always kept yourself at a distance.  Let your significant other think they knew everything, you’d _say_ you loved them, and even actively _lied_ at times and manipulated them into thinking everything was perfect until you found a way to stage a mutual breakup.  You liked them, you really did, but that didn’t mean you _trusted_ them enough to really make an attempt at a _real_ relationship, _liking_ them didn’t mean you would _ever_ actually _love_ them.  They were more like long-term elaborate _flings_ you’d _staged_ because dating was just something girls your age _did._

“I don’t know…I don’t think _anyone_ really knows until they have to experience it, but I do know _you_.”  Emily smiled gently, bringing you some comfort as she placed a hand on your knee and you looked back to her, “You wouldn’t go that far for just _anyone,_ and they’d _have_ to be an _amazing_ person just for you to give them a chance.”

“You make it sound like I’m obnoxiously picky,” you joked as your mood lightened, going back to your food after Emily made a promise you took great comfort from, throwing your head back in laughter.

“ _You’re_ not the picky one.  _I’m_ the picky one.  If I don’t like them, you’re never seeing them again.”

 

********

 

You may not have learned what you were capable of doing for someone you were _in love_ with, but you learned what you were capable of for your _family_ when an undercover operation into a potentially militant cult went wrong as a direct result of an overzealous politician.  The original plan had been to send you and Spencer in, even without your outward appearance the two of you were capable of putting _anyone_ at ease enough to just _let you in._   _You_ had suggested keeping you on _standby_ with Morgan instead.

Hotch distinctly remembered your reasoning.

_“Hotch, if they are militarized and things do turn into a standoff the best way to end it quietly is sending in a specialist.  I can manage if I’m already inside, but I won’t be able to take nearly as many weapons with me.  I can’t…I can’t give you specifics, but I’ know what I’m talking about.”_

Hotch didn’t ask, and he was grateful he listened.  He didn’t know you’d traded out the heels in your go-bag for flats and sneakers.  He didn’t know you’d already packed more comfortable skinny jeans and t-shirts in preparation for the _worst-case scenario._   All he knew, all he could see in your actions, was you were _dreadfully_ concerned for the safety for the team, to the point you were giving him a glimpse of things you weren’t allowed to tell _anything_ just so you would be in the best place to act should things take that turn.

That didn’t make sending you in _alone_ with SWAT waiting on the sidelines to back you up any easier.

Honestly, he didn’t care what you had to do, he was just glad you got everyone out of there.  He asked the questions he _had_ to ask, and let you discuss details as you wished beyond that.  You would have to be debriefed, but Hotch pulled a few strings for Rossi to be the one interviewing you.

“How’s she doing?” Morgan asked from his seat across from Hotch’s desk, he’d stayed behind for Rossi’s report.

“She’s angry it got to that, but she’s just happy everyone got out of there alive,” Rossi reported sitting in the empty seat next to Morgan and putting down the three half-glasses he'd carried in with the bottle of scotch, pouring the three of them drinks.  “I think the most important part is _she_ learned what she’s willing to do for the _team_.  In New York she was acting on her training, protecting the people of the city, but this was entirely about getting Reid and Prentiss out of there.”

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?”  Hotch was still worried.  He knew you’d likely seen – _done_ – worse in your past, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.  You’d been falling into your place in the team quickly, joining the family like you were meant to be there all along, and Hotch viewed it as _his_ duty to make sure everyone was alright.  If anyone on the team needed something, he’d move mountains to make sure they got it.

“Look, we don’t know what she’s been through and we _can’t_ know, but I don’t think she’s ever had a _team_ before.  Not like this one.”  Rossi leaned forward to place his glass on Hotch’s desk and _make sure_ Hotch _remembered_ what he was about to say, “From what I gather, [Y/N] probably left MI6 because she got scared of what she can do.  Helping people, working here, has helped with that.  What happened in that compound just helped it click.  She knows she’s here to protect people, and even protect _us_ , and she’s going to thrive off that.”

Hotch nodded in agreement, Rossi wasn’t going to lie about something this important, but…

Hotch was going to keep an eye on you…just to make sure you’d be alright.

 

********

 

You opened the door to your apartment, thinking it was going to be the delivery you ordered, only to find Penny standing there with homemade cupcakes and JJ holding the delivery you were going to pay for in cash, on top of a pizza box.  You motioned for them to step inside without a second thought.

“I hope you don’t mind.  After everything, we wanted to make sure you were okay,” JJ shot you an apologetic look after placing the food on the table.  She had been worried about you since she heard you were going into that compound _alone_.  It was bad enough when it was just Emily and Spence, but knowing you were in there too had her pacing back and forth as she furiously tried to keep calm.

Penny had put the cupcakes down on the table and turned around as she let her walls down and let you see the tears glistening in her eyes, “We could have lost Prentiss and Reid, and then you went in there, and then we could have lost you too, and I know what you’ve gone through, and I know that couldn’t have been easy, and I just – “

“Hey, hey,” you rushed towards the two after securing the door, you and JJ coaxing Penny to down the two steps to your living room area to sit on your old brown leather couch, _Clue_ still paused on the TV mounted onto your wall, and offered Penny your glass of white wine to help her calm her nerves.  She took the glass and devoured the contents – _of course you’d have amazing taste in wine_ – and took a few deep breaths as she decided it was time to come clean.  JJ knew what she’d done and swore she’d keep the secret, but you had the right to know.

“I looked you up when you joined the team…I knew Emily trusted you, and I trust her, but I just had to make sure,” Penny swore, clearly feeling guilty about what she’d done.

“You were trying to protect everyone the best way you could, there’s nothing wrong with that.  That’s part of why we _all_ love you so much.”  You smiled at your friend, it really was the reason you’d grown fond of her so quickly.

“I hacked into MI6…I didn’t get caught, but I had to be sure and – “

“How much do you know?”

Your blood ran cold and you pulled away, feeling like you were _miles_ away from both JJ and Penny despite being seated on the same couch.  You’d grown comfortable with the team because they _didn’t know._   They didn’t know what you you’d done, the blood on your hands, the _things_ you’d _done_ and the _people_ you’d _hurt_ because you were _told to._

“A lot of it…but I started with your last mission…and I just felt so bad.  You never should have been put through that and – and – I just felt like I was snooping in on a victim.  You trusted him and he just _used_ you like that, and you left to get away from all that, but then you brought it all back because Prentiss and Reid were in danger and I’m just…”  The tears in Penny’s eyes were growing, partially out of guilt and partially for you.  The reports of the men you’d killed.  The history of the baby boy that just _disappeared_.  The MI6 handler that had betrayed you after spending _years_ building your trust in him.  The month you’d spent in hiding while MI6 hunted you before they completed their initial investigation and discovered they’d also been led astray.

No wonder they’d just _let you go._

“We will _never_ use you like that.  You rush into danger every day because you’re trying to make the world a better place,” JJ cut in as she gave Penelope a chance to gather herself, leaning forward to carefully approach you because she _knew_ you were scared, “We don’t care about all of that, we just want to make sure you know we _all_ want you to come home safe, with us.”

You leaned forward, pulling the two into an awkward hug, as you smiled and relished in the warmth you felt at having a family that – while not normal – was filled with nothing but people you could trust.

_Implicitly._

 

********

 

Spencer was stuck, sitting at his kitchen table as he tried to finish the letter to his mom.  He just…didn’t know where to start.  He’d told her about you before, at length to be honest, but he wasn’t sure if he should even mention you this time.

He knew you were likely capable of doing…what you did, he’d just never seen it before.  He wasn’t entirely sure what to think.

The way you fought so… _efficiently_.  Just slipping into the room and _snapping_ a man’s neck before you were even _noticed._   Your facial expressions flat, like you were only focused on the end result and didn’t care what it took to get there, moving like you were dancing around the fight and knew what your opponents were going to do before _they_ knew.

He couldn’t figure out how he felt about it.  He wasn’t scared _of_ you…more like he was scared _for_ you.  But people with those skills…they don’t trust easily.  It explained your inability to find comfort, the way your eyes scanned every new room for windows and doors, why you just _couldn’t_ even be _bothered_ to be scared when you were faced with a _prolific_ killer.  But…he had to wonder…

Just how much would he know about you if you _didn’t_ work together.

He had been cursing his luck that you’d been a new recruit, that a relationship just wasn’t a good idea.  That the _one time_ he’d had some sort of…dream-like meeting with a girl that liked him _because_ he was awkward and had _no_ idea what he was doing it turned out she was going to be – eventually – sitting at the desk right across the aisle from him.  Now…he couldn’t help but realize that he might not even know _half_ of what he knew about you otherwise.

He wouldn’t know about that light you tried _so hard_ to carry with you everywhere.  He wouldn’t know about your painting or sketches.  He wouldn’t know how deeply you cared.  He wouldn’t know that when you rush into danger, you’re not brave because you _lack_ fear, but because you’re acting _despite_ it.  He wouldn’t know that you hate meeting new people just as much as he does.  He might not even know that you found little Sardine alone on the street and took a week off to nurse him back to health. 

All he’d know was that you share similar interests.

_‘[Y/N] was out again today, so the office was pretty quiet.  I almost screamed to break the silence.  I missed having her there.  I think we all missed having her there.  We don't know when she'll be back, but I hope it's soon.’_

You were all safe, you were all alive, and the case was resolved without needless loss of life.

That was all that mattered.


	14. A Change Of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Emily had quickly decided to make the most of having a case in Vegas. No matter how the case ended, you'd be staying behind to either celebrate or party to forget.
> 
> That was before Spencer's vivid dreams had caught your attention, and grew to worry you more and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to with the opening scene. I fucking had to.
> 
> It’s also gonna be a few ‘kid/childhood’ heavy chapters, so it...kinda fits??

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### A Change Of Plans

 

JJ didn’t know how you talked Will into letting you paint the mural for free.  She’d left _specific_ instructions _not_ to let you do that, left to do some shopping with Penelope and Spencer, and then came back to find out that not only were you painting the mural in the baby’s room for free, but Will thought that was a _good thing_ and had _completely_ forgotten JJ’s _very specific_ instructions.

Being _conned_ by you had become sort of a _right of passage_ into the family, but still.  JJ had been _very clear_ to warn Will just what to look for.  It was going to take you _weeks_ to finish and neither JJ nor Will wanted to take advantage of you like that.

JJ was sitting in the cushioned rocking chair they’d gotten for the baby room, it was _sinfully_ comfortable, and kept you company as you painted while the radio played.  It was nice to see you in the element where you felt most comfortable, doing something that you had _always_ loved and _always_ would, something you’d _always_ been able to do even without extensive training and classes.  Your hair sloppily tied back, shorts and old t-shirt splattered with old paint stains, one brush held between your teeth as you used another to create the blurry reflections in the water pool of the deep forest scene.  You were young, it still be a few years until you were ready, but JJ still had to ask.

“You ever think about kids of your own?”

After all the pain, you were still capable of a deep and unyielding love, so ready to give your all.  The smile on the face of a loved one was all you needed, knowing you’d – at the very least – brought them joy for a few moments even if you couldn’t solve all their problems.  You’d so readily dive into the darkness in your heart that scared you, just to make sure they were safe.

You looked over your shoulder, mostly to let JJ know you had heard her but couldn’t answer _quite_ yet as you still had the small paintbrush clutched between your teeth.  You finished with the specific reflection you were working on, the image a bit wavy to match the ripples in the water, and took the paintbrush out of your mouth to answer.

“Not _seriously_ , I used to think about it when I was younger, but things changed and I always sort of assumed it would be an unreachable daydream,” you admitted freely.  JJ already knew the more sordid details of your previous career, she’d know exactly why you didn’t think of it as a viable option for your future.  “Now…obviously it would be _far_ more possible, and I like the idea, but I’m still not sure.  I don’t think I’m the kind of person that would seek after becoming a mum without a spouse.  I can do without the picket fence and yard, but I feel like I’d need a partner, and that requires finding someone willing to put up with my… _unique issues._ ”

JJ didn’t press the issue, didn’t press for further explanation, just listened as you thought aloud while you continued to paint.  After _seeing_ how therapeutic it was for you, she felt more comfortable with letting you do this for free, but she’d still argued you into letting her and Will pay for the supplies.

“I’d like to leave the field too, put down the gun and do something less dangerous, but I’m just not sure I’m ready for that…or that I ever _will_ be, to be completely honest.”

JJ had no idea that, just days later, Emily asked that very same question of Spencer.  The two of them were alone, filtering through a paper trail, while you helped JJ keep the peace with the task force as it was necessary to make some _massive_ changes only _minutes_ after arriving.  Changes that the locals didn’t exactly like, especially since it undermined the authority of the detective heading up the task force.

Emily looked up to mention something she’d found when she saw the team genius looking back over his shoulder, on the other side of the glass wall you and JJ were sitting at a nearby desk and talking.  She’d placed your hand on her stomach and laughed as the baby kicked once again, making you laugh as well.  From what he could gather – through lip reading – you’d made a small joke about a scene in _Alien_ which caused JJ to cringe through her laughter and lightly slap your arm with the file in her hand.

“You considering it?”  Emily had to ask, the look on Spencer’s face seemed so _far off_ even though he’d actively turned to look back at you and JJ, before turning back to the part of the paper trail laid out before him.

“Considering what?”

“Having baby geniuses one day,” she clarified, lightheartedly, with a small smile growing on her lips, watching as Spencer once again looked off in thought.  It was quite possible this was the first time he’d _actively_ thought about it, mulling over the idea as he tried to figure out how to answer Emily’s question.  She waited for an answer, but Garcia called before the answer ever came.

Ah well, a conversation for another day.

 

********

 

It was hard to miss the fact you were worried about Reid.  You’d _been_ worried about him since the flight to Vegas, where he sat next to you on the couch and then just _passed out._   It was one thing to fall asleep like that, it was completely different for him to be murmuring in his sleep as he had a vivid – and reoccurring – dream.  You and Emily had originally been planning on sticking around in Vegas for a few days afterwards, either to celebrate the ending of the case or to _deal_ with it, but it was looking like that plan was changing.  Yes, the case had a better ending than most, but Reid was still plagued by repeated dreams that were quickly getting worse, longer, and adding in new details.

 _You_ were still sticking around for a bit, but Emily was returning to D.C. with Hotch and JJ.  The team was already going to be down _four_ members, Hotch and JJ would need some help if a case came up.  You still had a few extra clothes packed, but more than one of your packed outfits consisted of skirts and if you got in a fight your use of high-kicks would leave _no_ questioning the appearance of the rather _lacy_ underthings you’d packed for the girls’ weekend in Vegas.

You were single with a busy job, you weren’t _dead_.

Your choice of attire was a bit of a _topic of conversation_ after your one night out with Emily.  She was still recovering as the team gathered in the lobby of the hotel.  Hotch was already at the airstrip, Rossi reading the newspaper on a couch while Morgan passed the time trying to – loudly – coax a slot machine to give him a win.  It’s not like they hadn’t seen you wearing skirts or dresses before, you’d wear the occasional pencil skirt to work and outside of the office you’d commonly wear comfortable cotton skirts or dresses matched with sneakers and an oversized hoodie, but these outfits were a bit…different.

“Morning,” you greeted, cup of coffee in hand even though your things were still in your room.  The guys looked up to nod a _morning_ to you, but Morgan teasingly – but gleefully – clapped as he wolf whistled.

“Yeah, pretty girl, work it!”

You had to admit, you _did_ look good, but that was the _whole point of the outfit._   Black long-sleeve U-neck fitted to your form and tucked into a mid-thigh length white skirt that flowed freely, black buckled heels, long blonde hair left down, and a few tasteful accessories, though your gun was still holstered at your waist.  Still, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you laughed, lightly shoving Morgan’s shoulder as you warned, “As much as I appreciate that, you might want to keep that down.  Emily’s not feeling well.”

“What?”

“I hate Vegas,” Emily groaned as she walked right past the two of you and straight to the empty spot on the small red couch, lidless cup of coffee clutched in her hand and head kept down as she struggled through a hangover.  You couldn’t help but laugh, having known this would happen the night before.

“Come on, Prentiss.  How can you hate Vegas?  This is a grown folk’s playground,” Morgan teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood up.

“Didn’t you hit the town together last night?” Rossi asked, directing the question to you _specifically_ because you seemed to be doing _just fine._

“My father’s Irish, my mother’s Welsh, I spent my most formative years in England, and knowing all this, Emily still thought it was a good idea to have a drinking contest with a girl _literally_ born and bred to drink,” you further explained, softly pink painted lips turned upwards in a smirk as Emily further retreated from the light and hid her eyes behind her hand.  “She also learned that the casinos here are _very_ different from the ones in Atlantic city.”

“Anyone seen Reid?” JJ asked as she joined the group, ready to go home but still worried.  Reid had a rough few days, and it wasn’t like him to be missing from the group like this.

“I know he stayed with his mom last night,” Morgan answered, just now noticing you had _none_ of your things with you.  You knew something…

“He should be here by now, he knows the departure time,” JJ looked around, brow furrowed as she hoped she’d see her friend _somewhere_ in the lobby, spotting the nearby slot machine Morgan had been playing to pass the time, “This thing still has credit on it- “

“ _JJ, I swear to god.”_   Emily had seen JJ leaning over to take a chance on the slot machine, she had nothing to lose, and just _couldn’t take any more of that sound._

JJ stopped before she’d even reached the slot machine, looking to the rest of you for an explanation, “What?”

Rossi just, silently, used a few motions and facial expressions to explain you and Emily had gone out drinking the night before.  Morgan laughed at the little Rossi’s explanation, but JJ’s accusatory question to Emily only made it funnier.

“Again?  You _know_ she can outdrink an _Elephant.”_

As soon as Spencer stepped into the hotel, he heard you and Morgan laughing directly to his left.  He’d rushed the entire way to the hotel, knowing he’d be running late after taking too long to say goodbye to his mom, and hoped he would be holding the rest of you up too long just to tell you he was staying for a few more days.  He wasn’t going to tell the rest of you _exactly_ why he was staying, you’d just worry, but he wasn’t _exactly_ lying when he said, “I haven’t seen my mom for a really long time, so I’d like a few more days.”

Morgan shot you a look, the absence of _all_ your bags and the hotel key card still in your hand making more sense.

“You sure?”  Rossi _sounded_ convinced, but you knew he wasn’t, even as Spencer nodded in the affirmative, and that was further proven as he shrugged it off with, “Okay, take a few days.  Do what you need to do.  You sticking around too [L/N]?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been to the world’s biggest adult playground and, turns out, I’m pretty good at everything there is to do here.”  Your smirk grew and snickers returned as Emily just groaned painfully at the memory, pulling her wallet out and practically slapping the twenty in your hand.  JJ felt better knowing you’d still be around.  It was obvious something was up with Spence, but he wasn’t about to ask for help with a personal matter.  Hell, just getting him to help freely offered help was hard enough.  Maybe you’d be able to talk him into it.

When she found out Morgan and Rossi were staying as well, she felt comfortable enough going home with Hotch and Prentiss.

“Do I wanna know how you know how to do this?” Morgan asked as you used your hotel room key to break into _Spencer’s_ hotel room.  It was a matter of jiggling the handle the right way, and precise timing with the keycard and reader, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t done before.

You just responded by lightheartedly singing the opening to the _James Bond_ theme, and Rossi snorted in an attempt to keep his chuckles to a minimum.  His position meant he really shouldn’t be _condoning_ this kind of behavior, but as a person he was _absolutely_ supportive of your… _misuse_ of your skills and ability to make a joke out of _anything._

The three of you filtered inside, choosing to wait until Spencer got back to talk to him about why he was _really_ sticking around, and Rossi was the one to turn the TV on and flip to a local channel playing soaps.  As Morgan made themselves comfortable, raiding the mini-bar and settling down to watch trash television, you felt _no qualms_ about searching Spencer’s bag for a book – he had _five_ it didn’t take long to find one – and sitting in one of the two taller chairs at the high counter between the bathroom and coffee maker and the rest of the room.  The door was left cracked open, the sound from the television audible from the hall, and Spencer slowly pushed the door open to see just who was in his room.

“What are you guys doing here?”  Seeing you wasn’t much of a surprise, the city wasn’t nearly as active during the day compared to the night, but he hadn’t expected to see Morgan or Rossi _at all_.

“Hey,” Morgan nodded towards Reid before turning his attention back to the TV.  He’d judged Rossi’s taste for the show, but that was before he’d actually _seen_ it, “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

“Uh…” Spencer paused at the _bizarre_ scene, placing the Vegas PD file box onto the chair next to you as he replied, “Breaking into my room and watching _Days of Our Lives…_ is that _my_ book?”

It wasn’t the fact you’d borrowed the book, Spencer was questioning, it was the fact you’d broken into his room and gone through his bag to find something to read.  Sure…he’d made use of your hidden key when you weren’t home…but you knew he’d be there.

“Didn’t feel like watching _Young and the Restless_ ,” you answered, determined to finish the last page of the chapter, ignoring Rossi as he called you out.

“I thought you said you weren’t watching.”

You didn’t respond, just shut the book in front of you and turned in your seat to face Spencer as he tried to casually hang his bag off the back of the chair now holding the brown storage box.  It was almost comical, your hands in your lap and legs crossed at the ankle.  It was almost _comical_ , you just looked _so harmless_.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight back to D.C.?”

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to be hanging out with your mom.”  Rossi was so casual about the thing, overpriced can of macadamia nuts in hand as he lounged in one of the cushioned chairs with his feet up on the coffee table.  It was such a quintessential _‘dad’_ thing to do.

“And you’re _not_ ,” Morgan joined in, spotting the box on the chair, “Riley Jenkins?”

“No, it’s not- that’s actually not why I’m here,” Spencer stuttered through the lie, stepping in front of the chair to block it from Morgan and Rossi’s view, but turning his head to face you after you poked his arm.  You just stared him _right_ in the eye as you flipped the lid off the box, letting it fall to the floor, before reaching inside and grabbing the file on the top.  Morgan wished he’d had a camera to record the whole thing, because all he could think about was that series of YouTube videos Garcia had shown him.  He couldn’t remember the exact title, but the general idea was if people acted like pets and he was _certain_ he’d seen the ‘cat’ pull the same dick move you’d just pulled.

The room was silent, save for _Young and the Restless_ playing on the TV, as you and Spencer stared each other down.  His jaw clenched, and he didn’t think that move you’d pulled was _nearly_ as amusing as Morgan and Rossi.  The senior profiler mostly just sat back and watched the entire scene, memories of him pulling similar stunts when Gideon refused help on a case he was taking personally, and one very clear thought crossed his mind.

_That’s a best-friend for you._

To his credit, the doctor put up a valiant effort trying to stare you down.  Not a _word_ was spoken and neither of you broke eye-contact for what had to be at _least_ a minute, but eventually Spencer heaved a sigh of defeat and hung his head.  Morgan was _pretty sure_ he’d seen his parents do the same thing before his father died, but he wasn’t _completely_ sure and decided it was best to keep _that_ thought to himself.

He still had no idea what _flower_ you’d been talking about during that case in Ohio.

“So, now that we’ve dealt with _that_ , let’s try and figure out who did this,” you slipped off the chair and flipped the file open to start looking over it yourself, immediately looking back up when Spencer said, cautiously and unsurely.

“I think I already know…”

“Alright,” Morgan stood up, ready to get to work and help his friend put these ghosts to rest, “So, tell us about the suspect.”

“Truth is…I don’t – I don’t know anything about him.”  Spencer wasn’t sure _where_ to start with this.  His childhood wasn’t exactly a _secret_ , he’d opened up to the team a _lot_ over the years, but there were still things he kept _firmly_ to himself.

“He’s my father…”


	15. Pained Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I covered this exact thing with a different Rea, but I swear it won’t be the same thing.
> 
> Mostly because I spent A chapter on this with that Rea. This one takes a whole four.
> 
> It was a project.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Pained Reunions

 

As Spencer placed the files on the bed, thee rest of you shared silent looks of concern.  You kept your arms crossed, knowing you were the only one _not_ directly involved that held your opinion.  Rossi and Morgan wanted to be cautious, careful, warn Spencer that he might not like the answer and give him a chance to turn back, but you’d been there.

You’d been in that position, noticing things that just weren’t right as your subconscious constantly nagged at you as he put you through years of intensive training ‘for your safety,’ forcing you to look until you found answers you _really_ didn’t like.  Though…there was one major difference that could work in Spencer’s favor, should he be correct in thinking his father was responsible for Riley Jenkins’ death, that you didn’t have.

There was a _massive_ distance between him and his father.  Your father had been a loving and caring presence your _entire life._

“I’ve been here before, with my own father,” you cut in, a brief flash of past pain and _real_ vulnerability flashing through your eyes, the darker – almost violet – outer ring seemingly taking over the brighter cerulean in the center before you continued, “Unpleasant answers are better than knowing something is wrong and ignoring all the signals.”

“ _Mixed_ signals,” Rossi clarified, “That’s what the subconscious is all about, you _both_ know that.”

“Reid, your dad left you.”  Morgan’s reminder caused Spencer to tense, clenching his jaw briefly as built up anger that still remained threatened to resurface, “You take it to the Freudian extreme, you could say that he killed your childhood.”

“Could explain a dream in which you see him as a murderer,” Rossi concurred, urging Spencer to be _careful_ , even if he didn’t choose to abandon the investigation completely.

“A dream which includes the _specific_ name of a murder victim he hasn’t remembered in over a decade?  Even if his father didn’t do it, there’s still enough truth in these dreams that we have to look into it,” you countered, gently, hoping you were making the right choice and the right argument to help Spencer feel more comfortable in the fact that it was his choice.

“I’ve come this far…I’m not going back.”

Rossi made his way over to the files, picking one up and shifting one of the chairs to sit down, “Let’s get to work.”

You and Morgan picked up your own files, Morgan pacing as he read through the file and you leaned forward against the back of the chair where Spencer had taken a seat to go over the very basics of the case.

“Riley was six at the time. His father was supposed to pick him up from t-ball practice at 4, but he got delayed at work, prompting Riley to walk three blocks home.  When his mother got home in the early evening, she found him dead in the basement.”

“So, the offender came to the house _after_ the boy arrived home,” Rossi suggested a theory, also well aware that it was only _one_ of the possibilities.

“Could have met him on the way, or even walked him home if it was someone Riley recognized,” you suggested, looking up from the file in front of you as your long hair fell over your shoulder, “here were no signs of forced entry, Riley could have let the unsub in.”

“Coaxes Riley into the basement where he sexually assaults him,” Morgan concluded the morbid series of events surrounding the case.  The three of you were still looking over the files, though it was doubtless Reid already knew them all inside and out.

Rossi flipped a page, looking over crime scene notes regarding the state of the victim, and noticed, “The boy’s mouth was taped shut.”

“Symbolic.”  Spencer had obviously been through multiple theories, connecting the dots as he tried to find answers for the dreams that had been haunting him, “The unsub fears Riley will talk, panics, weighs his options…”

“Decides to make certain that he’ll never talk,” Morgan chimed in with the next series of horrid events before sitting by one of the less cushioned seats surrounding a round table tucked into the corner.

“Found the fishing gear with a knife under the steps, stabbed Riley nine times in the chest, and hid him behind the washing machine,” you finished as you shut the file in front of you and leaned forward to place it on the small end table between Rossi and Spencer.  That was easily one of the worst parts of this job, putting together the events that permanently scarred a life, young or old, even if they survived.

“So, the unsub’s a white male in his late 20’s to early 30’s.”  Spencer was already putting together the building blocks of the profile.

Some quick mental math, nothing more complicated than _counting,_ and Rossi felt comfortable saying, “Means we’re looking for a man in his 50’s.”

“[Y/N]’s right, he probably knew the boy.  Been to the house.”  Morgan flipped through the case file in his hands, making sure there was nothing he missed before moving on to another.  Spencer was already looking through the two small maps of the neighborhood, getting a feel for the area surrounding the scene.  Standing behind him, you couldn’t see his brow furrowing as he looked from one map to another, but you caught the brief pause and barely noticeable catch in his breath as something once again unsettled him about the case.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”  You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, standing on your toes to look over the maps in his hands and see of you could notice what he did.  He wasn’t one for contact, that’s why you’d managed to catch his full attention just by poking him in the arm, but that was _specifically_ in a tense situation.  Having known Reid longer than _either_ you or Rossi, Morgan had picked up on a few smaller changes in the genius’ habits around you.  When he’d normally try to reach around or slip by, Spencer would gently place a hand on your arm or shoulder to catch your attention, or when you were sitting next to each other on the jet’s couch you’d lightly tap his knee to get his attention if he was deeply engrossed in a book, his hand would brush yours for just a _little_ too long.  That was nothing to say of the fact Spencer had leaned back against you and _fallen asleep_ within _minutes_ during the flight to Vegas a few days ago.

“My family lived less than a half mile from the Jenkins’…”

Rossi was the one to ask the million-dollar question, “Do you think your dad knew the boy?”

“I don’t know…my memory’s lack of recall just reinforces how little I know about him.”

The three of you shared concerned looks over Spencer’s head, brows furrowed as you all knew there was going to be a _lot_ about this case that would be uneasy for the doctor.

“Reid, we’re gonna have to track him down,” Morgan brought up the elephant in the room, “You do know that?”

“We should talk to my mother first, neighbors, get – get their impressions,” Spencer suggested, ignoring the darker side of the elephant Morgan brought up.  You shot Rossi a look, desperate to not be the one to bring up the possibility of…

“Reid, I don’t need to tell you that this signature was need-based and sexual in nature.  The man we’re looking for is a pedophile.  So, I’ll ask you again.”  Rossi knew that, you knew that, Morgan knew that, and Spencer knew that no matter how much he wanted things to be different.  Rossi leaned forward, staring the doctor in the eye, and _firmly_ pressed the final question.

“ _Are you sure you want to go down this road?”_

 

********

 

You’d practically forced yourself into the suburban.  Not really, but you’d slipped into the passenger’s seat before Spencer even shut the driver’s side door behind him.  He’d paused, once again, when he saw you just _sitting there_ , focused on braiding a lock of your hair and your skirt riding up just a little as you sat with your legs crossed.  He didn’t ask, didn’t argue, and you’d just stayed in the waiting room with one of the magazines on an end table.  Diana didn’t have _much_ , it seemed like such a shock that Riley Jenkins was _real_ , and Spencer didn’t want to risk pushing _too_ hard.  You didn’t blame him, either, as you spoke to the doctor about what he could safely divulge.  You didn’t press either, just enough to get a general idea, but nothing intrusive and only regarding the chances Diana would _ever_ really recall Riley Jenkins.

That was all you needed to know for the case, so that was all you needed to ask, but you did leave a copy of your card in case he thought of anything else.

You did wait in the car as Morgan and Spencer questioned Mr. Jenkins, jumping a bit as you checked your messages on your phone.  You’d expected the doors to open and shut, but _slamming_ shut caught you off guard.  You learned _why_ Spencer was so angered when you found out you were going.

Will Reid worked at a law firm _ten minutes away._

The three of you met up with Rossi in the parking lot before going inside, and the way Spencer froze up at the reception desk wasn’t a good sign.  He took off for the bathroom to catch his breath and calm down, and you shared concerned looks with Morgan and Rossi as you spoke quietly.

“I’ve never seen him like this before, have you?”  Morgan’s question was directed to you, catching you a bit off guard.  Sure, you were friends _outside_ of work…but you didn’t know Spencer _that_ much better…you didn’t _think_ so at any rate.

“Similar states, maybe, during a case, but nothing this extreme.”

“Seventeen years is a long time to go between visits,” Rossi needlessly reminded the two of you of just _why_ you were there.  Of why Spencer hadn’t the _faintest_ idea who his father was.

“Not long enough, the kid’s still angry.”  That was more a warning than anything.  It’s not like you could leave Spencer out of this meeting, out of _any_ part of this investigation, but this was going to be…difficult.

“Can you blame him?” you questioned, fully aware it was a delicate situation while pointing out just _why_ Spencer wasn’t about to _calm down_ , “Everything Spencer went through…he’ll never say it out loud, but he just about raised himself.  Now he finds out that the man who abandoned him was only ten minutes away and never _once_ even _tried_ to visit?  He just realized a _whole_ new reason to be mad, it’ll take time for it to pass.”

Rossi was about to retort when you heard an unrecognized voice speaking from the door just to your left, watching and waiting to see if this was the man you’d come to speak with.

“You’re from the FBI?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Reid,” Rossi pulled out his badge and held it up, not at all surprised the attorney took a moment to actually _look_ at the agent’s credentials, “These are Agents Morgan and [L/N].”

He was smiling and friendly, despite the fact that three FBI agents – four, actually, but he didn’t know that at the moment – had come to talk to him.  It wasn’t the confidence of a man thinking he’d gotten away with murder, it was the openness of a man with nothing to hide.

“This wouldn’t be about the city council investigation, would it?”

“No, this is, uh, more of a personal matter.”  Even _Rossi_ wasn’t entirely sure how to introduce the issue, besides asking if there was a place to speak more _privately_.  Morgan took a chance.

“It’s about your son.”

“My – my son?  Did something happen?”

A rather panicked response for a man who had been absent for 17 years.  Things weren’t… _couldn’t_ be as clear as you wished.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”  Spencer was calm, _too_ calm even for a _routine_ questioning for a _routine_ case, and you made it a point to keep a close eye on him.  Maybe Morgan was right…maybe you were closer to Spencer than you realized, and if that was true you’d have to be _right_ there if something went wrong.  He wasn’t the most social person outside of work, and it’s not like there was a lot of free time with how the job was.  He was _very_ much a person who preferred to have a small group of close friends above having a large amount of acquaintances.  There was absolutely _nothing_ wrong with that, you were the same way when you had the…freedom to actually socialize, but that definitely narrowed down the list of people he’d turn to first.  Considering it was only the four of you investigating this case…

You would – without a doubt – be the person to talk Spencer down should things get worse than they already were.

“Hello, dad.”

Yeah…this wasn’t going to go well…

 

********

 

The four of you were just about _surrounding_ William Reid, a subconscious action you recognized as an _aggressive_ move.  Morgan was standing in front of the shelves of law books on the far wall, Rossi sitting on the couch across from William’s seat in one cushioned chairs decorating the more casual meeting area of his office.  Spencer hadn’t stepped far into the office, only a few steps out of the short hall to the door, he dropped his bag onto the floor and his hands were tucked into his pockets but there was _no_ missing the fact there wasn’t _one_ muscle in his body that wasn’t tense, and you were standing in front of the dresser decorating the wall to his right, only a step or two away.

It was only a matter of time until he bolted, and you’d have to dash right after him when he did.

“You don’t look like me anymore.”  That was a _bad_ way for William to start a conversation in the already tense atmosphere, “You used to, everybody said so.”

“They say some people look like their dogs too.”  Spencer’s voice was still eerily calm, as he _forced_ himself to stay calm.  “It’s attributed to prolonged mutual exposure.  Elderly couples, also.  They unconsciously mimic the expressions they’ve been around their whole life.  So, it kind of – it kind of make sense that I wouldn’t look like you.  I haven’t seen you in 20 years.”

Que the awkward silence…

“So, are you in town on work?”  Changing the subject, a good call on William’s part, you’d give him that.

“Finishing up a case, actually,” you answered casually, leaning back against the dresser behind you and crossing your legs at your ankles, your hands on the edge of the dresser.

“A five-year-old boy was abducted and murdered.”  That was a simplification of the case, but Morgan was right to leave the dirtier details out.  Best to get this done and over with.  Spencer was already practically half way out the door, and it was hard to tell if he’d storm out or _actually_ snap.  As much as the three of you were trying to remain impartial, you were also pushed by the urge to help a friend.

“I heard about that, uh, Ethan Hayes right?  That’s terrible.”  Wasn’t a surprise he follows the news.  He’s an attorney, and there was that comment about a _city council investigation._ Following local events would _literally_ be part of his job.

“It got me thinking about Riley Jenkins, you remember Riley Jenkins?”  Spencer knew the answer to that, everyone in the room knew the answer to that, and his calm tone did little to hide the fact he was going the offensive.  There was nothing wrong with that, but if he said the wrong thing he could shut down any chance of getting _any_ answers.

“Of course.”  You watched William carefully.  He was tense, he knew something, but…there was that hint of remorse.  It had been about twenty years since the boy was murdered, making it reasonable he would be _sad_ at the thought but not _distraught_ , and while he was _tense_ he wasn’t actively _defensive._   What did he know?

_Who was he protecting?_

“I’ve been having dreams about him for…a really long time.  But when we came back here, for this case, it jogged something, and the dream changed.”  That slight crack in Spencer’s voice wasn’t a good sign.  He knew he had to be careful.  He wouldn’t _snap_ in the middle of questioning such a crucial witness.  “I saw his killer, and he was you.”

It wasn’t often you were wrong, but when you were…

You were _really_ wrong…


	16. Rain On Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the chapter title is kind of poetic and with how bad I am at titling chapters I'm kind of proud of it.
> 
> You just gotta get to the middle and end of the chapter for it to be poetic.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Rain On Stone

 

You were slipping your heeled ankle-high boots over your black tights as you hear your phone chirp out your chosen text alert.  You picked it up, checking to see who it was to decide if it was worth checking.

_Grumpy Uncle_

If Rossi was texting instead of just waiting to meet up, it had to be important.

_We need to talk about Reid_

You lazily tucked your gray t-shirt into the waist of your black skirt, a similar length and fashion to the white one you’d worn the day before, and returned the text.

_Omw downstairs._

It was a coinflip as to whether or not Rossi was actually going to understand that, but you decided to take the chance before clipping your gun holster to the waist of your skirt slipped your badge and wallet into the pockets of your maroon sweater before heading out.  You met Rossi at the coffee station, the both of you getting your own cups before finding a place to sit and talk in private.

“You made it seem like it was urgent, I’m guessing this is about the case,” you brought up as you slid into the high chair sitting at one of the taller tables large enough for two.

“I just wanna make sure you’re prepared for the fallout.  Reid’s going to have to adjust his world view one way or another, and you’re in the best position to help him,” Rossi opened that can of worms, though not nearly as delicately as he would with most other people, “He’s probably not gonna go out of his way for help dealing with that, we practically had to force him to let us help with _this_ , you might not be able to just sit back and wait for him to come to you for help.”

“I know,” you sighed out the admittance as you finished stirring the cream into your coffee before putting the lid on, “I’m not quite sure how I’ll approach it, but I know I’ll have to.”

“Nobody knows how to deal with something like this, at least you know you’ll have to.”  Something in Rossi’s tone told you he was speaking from experience, but you weren’t about to ask.  It was his business.  If he wanted to share, he’d share.  You continued to chat about theories, things you’d picked up investigating, until your phones buzzed with a text from Morgan.

_Meet in lobby_

You met up with Morgan and Reid to learn that someone had dropped off an envelope containing the file of a man who had been arrested for exposing himself to a minor – a known precursor to molestation and murder.  Spencer wasn’t completely sure if he recognized the man or not, the stuttering of _‘yeah – no – I don’t know,’_ being an odd thing to hear from him.  It was still _suspicious_ , seeing as someone had slipped that envelope underneath the door to his hotel room less than an hour after the four of you had questioned William Reid.  It was worth looking into, but it was still _odd._   That specific conversation was cut short when Garcia called with what she’d found snooping through William’s computer.

_“I’m not interrupting boy time at crazy horse 2, am I?”_

You narrowed your eyes and furrowed your brow, trying to decide if you’d let that go – considering you were _literally_ wearing a low-cut top and a push-up bra.  Fairly obvious you weren’t a boy…

You’d let it go… _for now._

 _“Reid, we’ve been all up in your father’s business,”_ Garcia started off, a light chuckle still in her voice from her casual flirting with Morgan.

“What’d you find?”  He wasn’t sure if he was going to regret knowing, but he _had_ to know.

_“Well, let me tell you first what I did not find.  No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chatroom history.”_

“What about his finances?”  Spencer was sure there was something.  There had to be _something._   If there was nothing this whole thing was for _nothing_ and his reoccurring dreams were…he didn’t know _what_ they would be.

 _“We went back ten years,”_ Hotch answered, giving an idea for how deep the search was before giving the news, _“No questionable transactions that we can find.”_

 _“Well,”_ Emily cut in, _“He did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago.”_

“I hate Titanic just as much as you do, Em, but we’re gonna have to overlook that one,” you added onto the joke, a little smile on your face at Emily’s attempt to keep the mood from getting too dark, considering who you were treating as a suspect.

“He’s smart, is it possible that he kept things under the table?”  Spencer’s brow furrowed as he tried to find… _something_.  Something that would explain why his father showed up in that dream.

 _“Well, of course, but…_ ” Hotch _really_ didn’t like giving bad news like this to the team, but he had to.  That was part of his job.  “ _From what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”_

 _“We can tell you other things about him.  If you wanna know.”_   Emily sounded cautious with that offer.  That worried you.

“I’m listening…”

 _“Uh, he’s a workaholic.  He actually logs more hours than we do.  He makes decent money, but he doesn’t spend a lot of it.  He has a modest house, he drives a hybrid, he doesn’t travel much, he stays away from the casinos, um,”_ Emily listed off, you heard the papers she was looking through over the line, _“And according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”_

_“He appears to spend most of his free time alone, he goes to the movies a lot, and he reads.  And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favorite author is – “_

“Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.”  After he gave that answer, you kept a close eye on Spencer.  This was getting worse for him by the minute.  You had a sinking feeling in your gut this was going to be the thing that shattered his world view.

 _“He does have one other major interest,”_ Penny brought up, almost sounding happy as she mentioned it, “ _On his home computer, he’s archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”_

“What?”  This had to be it, this had to have _some_ kind of answer.  Spencer was sure of it.  Otherwise…

_“You, kiddo.  He’s got, like, everything that’s been published online.  Every article you’ve been quoted in, pieces you’ve written for behavioral science journals, he even has a copy of your dissertation.”_

“He’s keeping tabs on you.”  Rossi was watching Spencer’s reactions just as closely as you were, “That’s saying something.”

“Yeah, he _Googled_ me.  That makes up for everything…I’m going to get some air.”  Spencer pushed past the three of you and left, and you weren’t too far behind him.  You kept some distance, letting Spencer clear his own thoughts even if that meant counting cards at an _electronic_ poker game.  You weren’t even going to try to make sense of how he pulled that off.  You _did_ slip in when the prostitute – whom Spencer didn’t even notice _was_ a prostitute because he was so _immensely_ focused on using the game to clear his mind – and cut in as she moved to the seat next to him.

“ _Toodle-Ooh.”_   You stressed both halves of the expression, holding up your badge so you could guarantee she’d take off, and if Spencer hadn’t looked up you would have assumed he didn’t even notice.

He didn’t notice the woman leaving as much as he noticed you arriving.  The clean scent of petrichor, rain against hard soil like the brick and stone of your apartment, always seemed to cling to your skin and mix with the light layers of water musk, vanilla, and orchids mixed in the minute amount of perfume you liked to wear.  He looked up to see you taking the seat next to him, before immediately going back to the game.  He honestly wasn’t paying much attention to the winnings, just focusing on the calculations that would turn things in his favor.

“Did you…did you even notice that she’s…” you weren’t quite sure how to even phrase the question.  The first thing you noticed about Dr. Spencer Reid, besides the fact the was an awkward sweetheart, was that he was capable of focusing so intently on something that you couldn’t tell if you were impressed or terrified.

“You didn’t notice…did you?”  It was the easiest way to ask without making him feel like an idiot.

“Notice what?”

There was your answer.

“You know, sometimes you become so focused on something, for a moment I actually think you’re hypnotized or – “  You paused mid-tease when you saw the look on Spencer’s face, the same one he got when all the pieces of a case clicked into place and he just _knew_.  He got up from the his seat, trusting you’d follow behind him.

“Oi!  Wait up!”

Fucking tall people and their long legs. .

 

********

 

You had actively chosen not to think about the logic behind this decision too much.

Spencer didn’t believe in dream analysis, but a dream is what brought you all into this case in the first place.  Then, a man who you’d argue is a foremost expert in behavioral psychology – and psychology in general – not only believes in hypnosis enough for it to put himself under hypnosis, but also thinks putting someone with such a clear eidetic memory under hypnosis to recall a repressed memory was a _good idea._

You weren’t going to question it.  Just file it under ‘things Dr. Reid does when he’s thinking with his heart and not his head,’ and do everything you could to minimize the damage.

Rossi offered to go with Reid instead, he had experience with putting witnesses under hypnosis, but you just shook your head before leaving with Spencer after the four of you had found a hypnotist that had worked with law enforcement under similar situations.  This specific hypnotherapist didn’t usually allow people to sit in on sessions, her only exception being for the treatment of minors, but Spencer said something that…the _idea_ of it didn’t surprise you, it was just…

It was one thing to hear others allude to something like this…it was completely different to hear Spencer say something like that himself.

“I’d feel more comfortable if she stayed…”

This had been his idea in the first place, it was his determination pushing the whole thing.  If he gave up, then you’d all pack up and go home on the assumption that was what he wanted.  It was just…

It was…there was no way to really describe the _logic_ behind it, and as he got older Spencer found that he wasn’t basing _every single decision_ on the strict logical processes he would use to make every decision.  He’d just react on gut instinct, on a _‘wing and a prayer’_ as you’d say, there wasn’t a real cause for it except he was just _growing up._   He was fully aware that not _everything_ had to have some sort of…logical trail to follow.  Life wasn’t a chess match where every move had a purpose, or a puzzle piece where everything had a set place.  Sometimes things were just…a _mess_ , and you had to do the best you could with it.

Spencer knew _exactly_ why you were so worried, constantly biting at your bottom lip and nervously trying to do _something_ with your hands since you didn’t have a pen or pencil to fiddle with.  He was _fully_ aware the part his memory would play in this.  He was fully aware that, if he became _too_ immersed in the memory as was _highly_ possible in his case, pulling him out of it would be hard enough.  That was _nothing_ to say of getting him back to a _functioning_ state afterwards.

Your apartment had become sort of a _safe space_ to him, completely by accident, as you’d regularly invited him over when he was struggling with cravings once again.  He still wasn’t sure if you knew, or if you just saw he was struggling with something and wanted to help, but that didn’t change the end result of your efforts.  Eventually, he just found himself going over after a tough case or when his mind was running faster than he could keep up with and he needed a place where he could sit and read, surrounded by scent of petrichor that had always caused him to stop at _least_ for a moment and just… _be._   A scent that had, by complete accident, he had come to associate with _you._

You sat a few feet away, just watching, as Spencer was lulled into the first memory.  It was night, he couldn’t sleep because his parents were arguing, and his father had come into the bedroom to talk to him.  The therapist tried to help him recall exactly what happened, but only received a whimpering response that made your heart clench in your chest.

“I don’t want to be here.”

You’d never seen him like that before.  Angry?  Yes.  Frustrated?  Absolutely.  Furiously shoving fear down to do the job?  You’d seen everyone like that just like everyone had seen you like that.  Just generally moody?  Everyone in the BAU got that way.  But this?  It was different…like a scared child or a wounded puppy.  It hurt just to _hear_ it.

That wasn’t nearly as horrid as the _next_ memory.  The next morning, when he saw his mother crying by the window.  Watching as his father burned bloody clothing in the back yard.

“Wake him up,” you snapped, shooting upwards from your seat.  You knew this would happen.  You _knew_ this was too dangerous, and you just let Spencer go and do it anyway.  What the hell were you thinking?  You should have argued more, made him wait and think it over.  _Something_ other than spend an hour finding a hypnotherapist and then going to see her a few minutes later.

He continued shaking and whimpering, terrified, as the therapist tried to pull him out of the memory instead of just waking him up.

“What the hell are you doing?  Wake him up!”

Spencer jolted awake, scrambling for some kind of purchase, something to grab hold of as he tried to catch his breath.

“Spencer, Spencer, deep breaths,” you coaxed as you moved around to kneel in front of the couch, crammed between him and the therapist.  He panted as he looked back at you, like he was trying to register where he was and if you were really there as you brushed some hair out of his face as he tightly clenched your other hand in a crushing grip.

One long shaky breath and he leaned his head forward on your shoulder, shaken and unsure of _what_ he should do as the memory played and replayed in his mind so clearly, your voice and perfume lulling him to calm down.

“It’s alright, darling.  It’s alright.”


	17. Anytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that the ending of this kinda wraps around to the beginning of this chunk of chapters/story arch of the fic. That was 100% unintentional, I swear. It just kind of...happened.
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, the bickering down the street is kinda/sorta my favorite part of this chapter. I know it’s the shortest scene, there’s not much to it but Rea, Spencer, and Morgan arguing different points, and it’s not just the ending. Idk why. But I just really like that scene.
> 
> Also, I was going over the plan for this fic and I just realized how long a burn this is. Like a really long burn.
> 
> Like…we’re MAYBE half-way to the first face smoosh. MAYBE. And there might be a whole ‘let’s not do that again’ thing going on between that and the end. This is a SUPER LONG BURN.
> 
> #sorrynotsorry

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Anytime

 

_“It could have been you.”_

Diana had said that to Spencer when he tried, once again, to ask about Riley Jenkins.  With more pieces of his memory, he was able to add in details that could lead to something more than insistence it was nothing, and it did.  In a way it did.  It had led to that one statement, after Diana had a fit in desperation to remember what was real and what wasn’t, she sat on the edge of her bed after orderlies had come in to sedate her and keep her from harming herself.

_“It could have been you.”_

“She’s not stable, Reid, you can’t put stock in what she says,” Morgan insisted in a desperate attempt to keep Spencer from doing something reckless, “I don’t need to tell you that.”

“And I don’t need to tell you this is _textbook_ ,” Spencer snapped back, “Father reroutes compulsion to molest away from his own son to a surrogate.”

“The woman thought Riley Jenkins was an imaginary friend until _you_ told her otherwise.”

“This isn’t proof that his father is responsible, but you have to at _least_ admit she’s obviously repressing _something_ ,” you argued for Morgan to at _least_ admit that Diana knew _something_ and wasn’t a completely unreliable witness.  You were at least grateful that, as you walked down the street with Spencer and Morgan, that you were between the two of them.  “We’ve assumed less credible witnesses were giving us solid information.”

“And _I’m_ saying that he’s losing objectivity,” Morgan snapped back defending his stance as the three of you stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk, to continue this heated argument.

“I’m _right_ here!”  Spencer almost _furiously_ defended his standpoint, he was reaching the end of his rope much like you and Morgan were, and the fact that he was _right there_ and you were talking about him like he _wasn’t,_ “I’m not trying to say I know what happened, or – or how my dad’s involved.  But my dad’s involved.”

The three of you remained huffy as you turned to continue down the sidewalk when you _all_ froze and watched as Lou Jenkins left the North Las Vegas Police Department.  Mr. Jenkins saw the three of you but took a turn to leave and you couldn’t help but speak up as the three of you watched him walk away.

“I really hope we’re not going to waste time arguing over whether or not that’s a freak coincidence.”

 

********

 

A local detective agreed to let you hold William Reid for 24 hours and while Gary Michaels seemed to just _disappear_ after the Riley Jenkins murder, he had already been charged with exposing himself to a minor and there _had_ to be a reason someone slipped his file into Spencer’s room, it was _impossible_ for the man to _stop_ offending.  Not when he was such a need-based offender that was still escalating almost 20 years ago.

At least, he _would_ have offended again, if he’d been _alive._

The detective knew Spencer was staying at The Fountain, even though he’d never said where he was staying.  William Reid knew Gary Michaels killed Riley Jenkins, confessed that much, but didn’t say anything else.  Just said Spencer didn’t want to _go down that road_.  Now, Garcia’s search for Gary Michaels resulted in finding out he’d been dead for about 20 years, the CODIS search matching him to unidentified remains unearthed when a new building project broke ground across state lines.  Remains that looked to be beaten to death with a pipe, or a _bat._

 _Oh_ , and JJ went into labor three weeks early.

You shut your eyes and massaged your temples with the heels of your palms, it couldn’t just be _one fucking thing at a time_ in the BAU.

Your eyes shot open as it hit you like a shock of lightning.

“Gary Michaels killed Riley, so someone who knew went looking for revenge,” you pieced it together, “What if somebody who knew had to have told Lou Jenkins?  As the victim’s father has the greatest motive, and it would only be made worse by the fact he was supposed to be there with Riley, but since he was held up at work – “

“Riley was left alone, and became an easy target for Michaels,” Rossi concluded, following your line of thought.  It clicked together far better than anything else that had been suggested, there was only one problem.

“We can’t go making accusations without real proof,” Morgan brought up the wrinkle.  There was no physical evidence, only circumstantial, and that’s only a successful sell if at least _one_ person is talking.  Considering most of the evidence was not only gathered outside an official investigation, but the waters were muddied by the fact that Spencer was related to at least one – if not two – people involved…you had to hope you’d find something by going up to Inyo County to look at the evidence gathered when they found Michaels’ body.

“Been rumors of bodies buried up at the Barker Ranch for years,” the sheriff brought up as the four of you looked over the thin files he’d given you to look over, “On account of that’s where Chuck Manson had his hideout.  When we dug this one up, we went ahead and had him typed, thought _maybe_ it could be related.”

“It’s a good thing you did, might never have I.D.’d him otherwise,” Morgan vocally approved of the sheriff’s decision, you were already on shaky ground with the cops in Las Vegas you _really_ didn’t need to be on shaky ground with these guys too.  Besides, it was _true_.  Without that CODIS hit, all you would have had were theories, confessions, and Spencer’s dreams.

“So, why all the fuss over a dead pervert?”  That was a fair question.  Most people would feel comfortable knowing a pedophile was dead and just leave it there.

“He’s a suspect in the murder of a young boy from Vegas,” you answered, choosing your words _carefully_.  No need to sound crass, and might as well get the sheriff on your side in case there was anything else he could help with.  “It’s a 20-year-old murder, but we can’t just let these things sit.”

“Is that how he ended up in the ground?  Revenge?”

Rossi was looking through the photos of the dump site, looking over what matched or conflicted with the running theory when he found something that caught his interest.  “Possibly, it says here you have a fingerprint in evidence, lifted from the victim’s broken glasses.”

That also caught Spencer’s attention, bringing it away from the file he was looking through and to the sheriff as he explained the situation with the single print.

“We ran it up the flagpole a couple of times.  Nothing ever came up.”

“Now we have people to compare it to,” Spencer pointed out the key difference in the situations.  That one little difference would make or break everything.  Your theory wasn’t unreasonable, but what his mother said kept ringing through Spencer’s mind.

_“It could have been you.”_

“A suspect?” the sheriff stood up from leaning back on his desk, preparing to step out to continue with his daily routine.

Morgan was careful with how he answered, it wasn’t an official investigation and some tact was required, “Well, we’re gonna look into it, but we’re gonna run it through AFIS too.”

What the sheriff had to say before he left wasn’t surprising, “That’s a lot of taxpayer dollars being spent to solve a public service murder.  If you ask me, the guy got just what he deserved.”

“He’s right, you know.”  Rossi stood up, prepared to have this conversation, “We don’t have to run this print.”

You hated hearing this, you really did, because if someone had turned around and told you the _same thing_ just a few years ago…

But they didn’t know that.  _That_ detail hadn’t even been _put_ into your MI6 or Interpol files, there was no way for Penny to find it.  You were just a minor detail in a report, a ‘trustworthy source’ that ‘offered information’ that was ‘deemed viable.’  The only member of the BAU who knew the truth was Emily, and she was _literally_ sworn to secrecy.

So were you, for that matter.

While Rossi and Morgan turned their focus back towards Spencer, you remained stationary, leaning back against the table and facing the far wall.

“Of course we do,” Reid countered, “Whatever Michaels did, he deserved a fair trial.”

“Reid, you wanted to know if your father killed Riley,” Morgan reminded everyone, specifically Spencer, of the reason this investigation had started, “All signs point to ‘no.’  You got what you need.”

“What I need is the _truth.”_

“If this print belongs to your dad, he could go away for a long time.”

You couldn’t listen to this anymore.  You shut your eyes and spoke up, “Sometimes that’s what has to happen.”

Morgan trusted your judgement, normally, but he clearly disagreed with you on this.  It was clear part of this was out of a _vendetta_ , Spencer was still angry about his father leaving, but it still needed to be done.

“We do this job because it is right, not because it’s easy, and not because we have to have every day wrapped neatly with a bow.”  You dropped the file onto the table and turned to face the others, having gathered yourself and shoved past memories back into the pit where they belonged.

“One way or another, we need to run that print and find out who did this, because that is our _job.”_

 

********

 

Spencer felt…he wasn’t sure how he felt.  He was so… _so_ angry with his father.  Spencer thought it was behind him – for _years_ – and then Gideon went and did the same damn thing and brought it _all_ back.  Despite that anger, though, he was glad you were right.  He was glad the print matched Lou Jenkins and not William.  He wasn’t…he wasn’t quite sure where _you’d_ gone off to, your cell had rung about the same time Morgan’s did and you took one of the suburbans and left, but he didn’t _need_ you there. 

If he was arresting William, that would be different, but…you _should_ have been there.  You _should_ have been there when they were questioning Lou, when they were trying to get the rest of the information, trying to figure out why Diana had such a violent reaction to Riley’s name and why William was so determined to keep this secret.

_You should have been there._

When you _did_ show up, you just stepped into the interrogation room and said, “Spencer, a word.”

You couldn’t blame him for looking aghast, even a little _offended_ considering you’d just taken off and interrupted an interrogation.  You weren’t about to leave, though, and stood in the open door just _waiting._   You’d already taken Diana to a more comfortable room, William was with her as well, and you weren’t about to make them wait or drag them out to the interrogation room to prove a point.

He was already about to learn that Diana had been the one to tell Lou who killed Riley, that she’d noticed Michaels trying to get close to Spencer and just _knew_.  He already had to learn that the bloody clothes his father was burning were his mother’s.  That the knowledge of what happened – and what _almost_ happened – was what drove William away.  You just…you couldn’t bear to make things harder for him than they would already be.

“Please?”

He followed you with a huff, in the mood he was in you were lucky you didn’t have to drag him out, but he sure as _hell_ was going to ask, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I'm sorry I left, but it was all for the case, I promise,” you replied, leading him down the hall to the room Diana was waiting in.  Spencer saw her through the window of the door, his brow furrowed as he turned to you and silently asked just what the _hell_ was going on.  “I spoke to her doctor, mostly about the chances of her remembering what happened to Riley Jenkins and gave him my card in case she said anything.  He called to tell me she…put off taking her medication for a bit to remember, and thought it would be best to call me since I didn’t seem to be directly involved.  I didn’t know she’d already called your father, but I thought it was best to bring both of them here.”

Yeah, you left in a rush, but you left to get _him_ the answers _he_ desperately needed. 

He just watched, dumbfounded, as you explained further.

“She told me a few things on the way here – she’s really very sweet, and feisty but I’m hardly one to judge on that, especially since I think that’s a good thing – anyway, I think it’s best you hear it all from her so…” you gestured back down the hall towards the interrogation room, “I’ll go talk to Morgan and Rossi, and you can…um…I’ve never had a family reunion before so all that’s coming to mind is _good luck._ ”

You were already making your way down the hall when Spencer started to open the door, stopping mid-way to call after you.  You stopped and turned, and suddenly his mind went blank.  He was going to say something…he was going to say…uh…

“Thank you.”

You smiled softly, with a little sadness in your eyes Spencer couldn’t place.

“Anytime.”


	18. Internal Struggles

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Internal Struggles

 

Agent Todd was taking to the job pretty well.  You hadn’t worked with her much, but you thought she was doing well.  She wasn’t _JJ_ , nobody could replace JJ, but considering Jordan had to learn on the job since JJ went into labor the day Jordan just _started_ shadowing, she was doing pretty good.  She picked out a case in Atlanta, a 25-year-old woman named Vanessa Holden, had been found murdered in her apartment, throat slit around 5 am after she’d been cut open just below the stomach – disemboweled – hours earlier.  She’d last been seen the last Friday clubbing with her younger sister.

According to the younger sister, a stranger – a white male about Vanessa’s age – picked her up and they left at about one in the morning.  She was forced onto her hands and knees, cut her open, and waited hours until he slit her throat.  That wasn’t the weird part.  The weird part was Jordan found two priors from a year ago that followed the same M.O., but the victims were prostitutes found in motel rooms.  It was the connecting factor that was _really_ odd.  Bleach, ammonia, and trash bags had been found, all in the same triangular pattern, at all _three_ murder scenes, along with bleach and ammonia under the victim’s fingernails like she was being forced to clean up her own murder.

The team packed and met in the airstrip in a few hours, taking off the same day and immediately getting to work discussing the case during the short flight.  Still, you were a bit…out of it.  It had hit you while you were packing and making sure Sardine would be taken care of while you were gone.  The victim was just _barely_ over a year older than you, her hair was shorter and only a few shades darker and her eyes were grayer than yours, but…it still threw you off.  Not because the same thing could happen to you, but because the same thing could _never_ happen to you.  You’d never been young and stupid enough to be caught off guard during a night out with friends.  You weren’t living life, going out and having fun, having your heart broken.

Sure, you went out with the other girls on the team, but you always had your guard up, never left home without your gun and a knife, and were _fully_ prepared to fight someone off if that’s what it came to.  You were just…

You were an _almost_ 24-year-old woman making a living chasing down the most twisted killers and considering it a _reprieve_ from her previous career as a _goddamn spy_ – a job she’d gotten entirely because she turned her father in to Interpol after he’d spent over a decade training her because she needed to protect herself against his enemies.

Yeah.  _Normal_ was never a luxury for you in _any_ way.  You knew that.  It was just…

It hadn’t really _clicked_ until now.

You weren’t…

You didn’t know how you felt about that.

 

********

 

Something had seemed…off about you since the initial briefing.  You’d been quiet for most of the flight, distant while he focused on the geographic profile and you filtered through the eyewitness testimony about the unsub to see if there was _anything_ usable before putting together the victimology of the prostitutes and the separate victimology of Vanessa Holden.  That first thing was something _you’d_ offered to do, and Hotch agreed as long as you didn’t let it distract you from the victimology.  Working in silence wasn’t the specific issue…it was just…

Normally, you’d be sitting or leaning against the table until you huffed and made a joke about pick-up artists being nothing more than shitty con artists – he presumed that would be the joke you’d make – and ask how the geographic profile was coming.  Instead, you just kept on reading the interview logs silently as you paced back and forth.  You hadn’t even pushed the sleeves of your blue pullover up to your elbows – something you tended to do sooner rather than later when you wore long sleeved shirts – or even started playing with the loose strands of your ponytail – you always ended up playing with your hair when you read.  You’d pulled your phone out the back pocket of your jeans to check the time before going back to pacing silently in your black buckled heels.

Something was bothering you.

Spencer didn’t know what it was, but he hated it.

With you, he couldn’t just _ask_ , not out in the open where everyone could here.  He couldn’t even guarantee you’d answer truthfully.  Your name in your file, the name you’d been using, wasn’t even your birth name.  There was so much about your past that was – and always would be – a mystery, and it was _supposed_ to stay that way.  He knew you as a _person_ , that was enough, but it didn’t seem you were being bothered by something from your past.  Like most of the team, the worst parts of your career came back to you in nightmares.  You’d admitted to that – briefly – in private as the two of you spoke over a case.

Something else was bothering you.  Something internal.  Something personal.

You weren’t about to talk about it, just brush it off as nothing and actively change your behavior to go along with that little lie, and unlike him you weren’t about to cave because someone pushed hard enough.  He just…he had to find a way to figure out what that was, and then figure out a way to help.

The team gathered back together in the precinct, around the desk and case board you’d been given to work at in the cramped department.

“The unsub killed the prostitutes in separate pay-by-the-hour motels in Fulton County,” Spencer started up the conversation as he returned from a short coffee run with two cups in hand, handing Morgan his own as he pointed to the general area on the map, “Right there, in one of the poorer neighborhoods in the area.  Now, Vanessa Holden’s apartment was in the Peachtree District, where there’s a lot of big money.  Based on the geography he isn’t just changing his victimology, he’s changed his whole tax bracket.”

“The Holden’s are socialites here, if they want something done in Atlanta it’s done,” you agreed before pointing out the newspaper ads you’d found for the prostitutes, “Both prostitutes had similar ads, both featured them in subservient positioning asking for someone to dominate them, they’d even go to the John.  Easy targets he could get alone with minimal social interaction and enough cash to pay for few hours at a shit motel.”

“So, by killing Vanessa, the unsub was killing the social ladder,” Morgan connected the victimology’s, entirely based on how _different_ they were.

“If that’s the case, this unsub had a long way to climb,” Rossi added as he closed the newspaper and placed it onto the desk.  The key was finding how the unsub went from the bottom of the barrel to growing enough confidence to talk his way into Vanessa Holden’s apartment.

“He took a year off between the murders.  Maybe he took that time to change himself,” Hotch proposed a theory, the most likely theory considering the massive gap between the first two murders and the third.

“That’s impossible.”  Morgan wasn’t buying it, and the way you scoffed in response made it clear you didn’t believe him.  “We’re talking about a total transformation here.  I mean how you talk, how you dress, how you think about yourself.”

“Oh, sweet summer child,,” you immediately countered, teasingly cooing like you were pitying Morgan for being so _naïve,_ before you picked up the newspaper and flipped through it, “If there was a secondary trigger after he started killing, got a haircut, maybe diet and self-help books, all that would be left is signing up for one of the _dozens_ of pick-up classes advertised in the newspaper – only a page away from the prostitutes.”

“That’s where he’d learn how to read people, and learn what to wear.”  Emily reached over to take the newspaper for a closer look, scanning the page to see that there were – in fact – _dozens_ of classes before passing it along to Morgan.

**_Learn How To Pick Up Chicks_ **

**_1-800-555-0044_ **

 

********

 

You grabbed a quick dinner, literally a sandwich and chips from a local shop, before going right back to your hotel after Hotch told everyone to get some sleep.

As you met the team to head to the new crime scene, Spencer was even _more_ concerned something was wrong.

“No coffee,” Spencer observed, teasing you lightly as the two of you incidentally met in the elevator, “That’s unusual.”

“I woke up early.”  You kept your gaze ahead, your answer short…

Hair left _completely_ down, you always at least clipped or tied a few strands back during a case.  Fitted white pullover, tucked in with nothing layered over to hide the knife you kept with your gun at your waist.  Fitted black slacks that clung to you like second skin, a bit tighter than what you normally wore.  Just a little bit more shadowing around your eyes.  Then there was the way you were walking, barely making a sound when your black buckled heels met the tile floor of the hotel lobby or the white pavement of the sidewalk.

The unsub had struck two Fridays in a row, or _tried_ to.  Something the victim did had interrupted the unsub’s routine and could trigger him to strike again that night – on a _Saturday_ night.  With the pattern of accessories the unsub was wearing, it looked like he was trying to obscure attention _away_ from a scar or birthmark above his eye.  Something that could be _very_ identifiable.

Hotch was _carefully_ watching Jordan’s press release, you’d heard she’d lied to get the Holden family to start talking to law enforcement after suddenly clamming up, but you couldn’t say you completely _agreed_ with Hotch on this one.

It’s not like you’d never lied for the job.

That was what you _did_.

You found the target – _unsub_ – whatever the costs and dealt with them as necessary.

You’d noticed Emily making her way to the area set aside for the team, but Hotch was focused on watching the press release.

“Hotch,” Emily spoke up to catch his attention.  If it weren’t for the fact she found something to move the investigation forward she would have waited, but there was a time limit and the clock was ticking.

“What’d you find out?”

“Of the 20 self-described pickup artist classes in the area, there’s only _one_ guy who encourages his students to dress like, uh, space cowboys.”  Emily held up the newspaper ad with a _wildly_ amused look as she reached the punchline, “Are you ready to meet _Viper?”_

Hotch didn’t laugh, didn’t bat an eye, just kept his composure as Emily barely kept from snickering and shifted his gaze to look down at the full-page ad on the back of the newspaper.  He’d already known who he wanted to approach the teacher of one of these…he was going to go ahead and call it a ‘class.’  You had an extensive history of talking to people, manipulating them with your appearance and carefully chosen words.  Whether Hotch liked that or not, you’d worked for MI6 and he’d seen you in the interrogation room.  You never _lied_ , not without reason, but you did let them _think_ things.  Your size and general appearance would keep Viper from taking you seriously, despite the fact you could _easily_ be the most dangerous person in that room.

If he didn’t hand over the client list, you’d be working off a profile until it was possible to _get_ that list.

“[L/N], get Morgan and meet me at the car.  Prentiss, I need you to stay here in case anyone recognizes the sketch.”

“I suppose it’s only fair, you did have to deal with Rothschild.”  You feigned distress as you sighed, a smile on your lightly painted lips when you saw Emily’s worried gaze as Hotch left for the car, “Relax, Em, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know, it’s _him_ I’m worried about.”  All jokes aside, Emily was worried about you, just not about the questioning.  She knew how hard it could be leaving the massive international operations for more…conventional forms of law enforcement.  Eventually, you reached a point where it all just sort of…like who you were before and who you’d become didn’t quite match and you had to figure out which one was the real you.  The one who lied to witnesses for information and executed someone because you were ordered to, or the one that became an image of protection and honesty.

Then there was the fact you never really seemed to… _get_ why everyone was so worried about you, that the life you lived has a psychological toil.  After over a year in a job where you were _surrounded_ by witnesses and victims that reminded you of that very thing, one of them would have to click eventually.  This job, as unorthodox as it was, was good for you.  It was a place you’d be able to adjust, find the peace you deserved, you just…you had to adapt first.

You had to adapt to letting people actually _see_ you were struggling.  Emily knew because she’d known you since you were a teenager, long before MI6 had taught you the skills you’d need as a spy, but that wasn’t a guarantee you’d go to her.  That wasn’t a guarantee you weren’t actively trying to keep her from noticing these things.  The question was if you’d let someone past all of that _now_ , now that you’d put all those walls up, now that you’d grown up. 

Now that you weren’t a teenager terrified of the implications of her actions and guided by a desperation to do what was right.


	19. What You've Done Is Not Who You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not gonna lie, while they were interviewing Viper I wasn’t 100% sure Morgan wasn’t gonna throw a punch.
> 
> And that goddamn hat. I just wanna set that thing on fucking fire.
> 
> There’s also a moment during that interview – towards the end – where it looks like Hotch is thinking ‘just how much damage will I do to the case if I punch this guy? I mean I know I’ll get in trouble, really don’t care about that, but could we still solve the case before the unsub kills again?’
> 
> I have headcanons, okay, and one of my favorites is that all the guys are feminists. You can’t work in any level of law enforcement, from glorified mall cop to secret service, and respect the skills and/or authority of a female co-worker without being at least a little bit of a feminist.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### What You've Done Is Not Who You Are

 

As you walked into the rented space to meet with _Viper_ , Morgan had teased the idea of keeping you between Morgan and Hotch as they might have to keep you from, to use Morgan’s exact words, _‘stabbing someone in the dick.’_

A man with two sisters raised by a single mother after his father died, it didn’t take a profiler – or even _meeting_ him – to know that Derek Morgan has _strong_ feelings about misogynists.  Everyone on the team does, but Morgan was most likely to lose his cool and throw a punch if the misogyny was aimed directly at a member of the team – or god forbid his mother or sisters.

You still laughed, and Hotch couldn’t help the brief little smirk that crossed his face before the three of you made your way down the hall and to Viper’s classroom, stopping in the doorway as you watched his…lecture.

“Men are put on this Earth to hunt women.  And even though women deny it, they _want_ to be hunted.  They _need_ it.  It’s part of our biological imperative as animals.”

A few thoughts crossed your mind as you watched the scene before you.  For starters, you couldn’t tell what the deal with that fuzzy top-hat was.  What was it made from?  Where do you even get one of those?  And why was he spinning it around like some kind of prop?

Then there was the more concerning part.  You were used to dealing with sexism, that was just part of being a woman with a badge, but this level of sexism was… _disgusting._

“And, the competition the opposite sex puts you through, pitting you against other guys – against your own friends even – it’s all to reassure themselves that _they_ have brought home the best possible mate.  Cause just like you, they want someone who’s gonna make their eyeballs roll back in their head.”

You couldn’t tell if you hated his hair or his goatee more.  Sure, Robert Downy Jr _._ can pull off the goatee, but he’s _Robert Downy Jr._

“My job is to help you slash past every defense, every excuse, every “why don’t you meet my friend’ trick that they’re gonna throw at you.”

Seriously, what the fuck was with that hat?  It was _hideous_.

“You might not have ripped abs, or afford table service, but if you’re smarter and…” he flipped the hat onto his head, “ _More interesting,_ then you will be a better predator.  Because this is the jungle, my friends, and your prey _wants_ to be caught.”

“Will you listen to that language?” Morgan spoke just loud enough for you and Hotch to hear, “He’s training serial killers.”

“You know, when Emily showed us the ad, I really should have expected a sexist with a hat made of dead Muppet fur that figured out how to con people into buying his bullshit.”  That was it.  That hat _had_ to be from a skinned Muppet.  There was a gruesome murder on Sesame Street that had been left unsolved and you just found the man that did it.

“Just one more thing he has in common with our unsub.”

You _really_ wished Hotch was talking about the hat.

“So, you think this – what’d you call him – _unsub_ took my class?”  Viper was cocky, disrespecting Hotch and acting like he wasn’t really listening.

“He copied your ‘the camera adds 10 pounds’ routine verbatim.”  To his credit, Hotch kept his cool, though he’d tucked his hands in his pockets.  It looked like everyone was discreetly trying to restrain themselves.  Morgan hung his hands off his belt by his thumbs, actively avoiding eye-contact while keeping a wide stance like he was ready to square off at any moment.  You’d shifted your weight onto one foot, your hip jutting out as a result, and tucked your hands into your back pockets.

“Yeah,” Viper grinned at amusement at the gag, “That’s a good gag.”

“Giving us a copy of your attendance list could help us find him,” you requested politely, keeping your cool.

“No.”

“Four women have been murdered.”  You were growing more and more irritated, but so were Hotch and Morgan.  You were there for a specific reason.  All three of you had to keep cool.

“My clients expect a certain amount of confidentiality.  I won’t compromise that.”  This wasn’t just about his profit, this was about making a point.  You couldn’t help but think if you’d come here with Emily and Jordan this guy would be handing his client list over.

“We can come back with a warrant.”  Hotch didn’t want to waste that time, the unsub was undoubtably going to be searching for another victim tonight, but if there was no other choice he absolutely would get one.

“Be my guest.  But keep in mind, the money I make doesn’t just pay for my fabulous lifestyle,” he turned to look directly to you as he mentioned his lifestyle, been there done that, before he turned back to Hotch, “It also keeps some very expensive lawyers on retainer.”

“Which club did you go to last night?”  He shared multiple traits with the unsub, was defensive over the privacy of his business, and taught the exact lines the unsub used.  Might as well ask.  You stood firm as he stepped closer, eying you with a smirk completely unaware that you had to cling to the hems of your back pocket to keep from punching him – or _actually_ killing him.

“It’s a legitimate question.”  Morgan cut in.  He did _not_ like the way Viper was looking at you.  He didn’t give a damn that you could protect yourself, if this guy made one wrong move Morgan was gonna throttle him just on _principle._   You were his friend, and you were part of the team.  “You seem to know a lot about our investigation.”

“Two things to learn about me.  First, I outwit alpha males like you for fun and sometimes profit.”  Viper turned his attention to Morgan for the first time for the entire interview, _immediately_ growing defensive, “How often do you have to count on your badge to score, baldy?”

Baldy?  Really?  That’s the best this prick could do?

“Second, last night, I was at Club Aqua, and I have a stack of tax-deductible drink receipts to back up my story.”  Viper turned to Hotch, who looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of letting either you or Morgan just throttle this guy and have it over with, or maybe he’d just punch Viper himself.  “Now, you might not want to believe that my style works and here, in this harsh light, you have the advantage.  But meet me on my turf…”

You made it a point to let Viper _know_ you weren’t impressed, letting your mask slip as he turned to you and stepped closer.  You were just about to wrinkle your nose at the _disgustingly_ overpowering cologne he wore when you remembered you were making it a point to look bored just to _piss the guy off._

“Oh,” he chuckled and smirked, “The things I could make you do.”

_Don’t punch.  Don’t punch.  Don’t punch.  Oh god, that cologne is disgusting.  What does he bathe in it?  Fucking hell._

You followed Hotch out, Morgan stayed behind to stare Viper down, but you just needed to get out of there.  That cologne was giving you an aura headache and you needed _air._

“Please tell me I’ll be able to punch him in the face.”

“We’re just getting started.”

 

********

 

As soon as the three of you returned to the precinct, Hotch dialed Garcia’s number to get _everything_ on Viper.  It may or may not have been personal at that point, it was at least partially personal, but that information also helped the investigation, so it worked out.  Morgan left to get some air, covering by saying he was getting lunch, and you left to get some tea from a nearby café.  You’d overheard the growing plan as you left, choosing to get a coffee and a handful of sugar packets as well before returning to the precinct.

“Here, I thought you might need this,” you offered, placing the cup on the table Spencer was working at as he went through everything Garcia had sent over about Viper’s…techniques, “I figured it would help with the…long day ahead.”

“Thanks,” Spencer looked up at you, watching as you sat across from him and took the lid off of your hot tea, “I heard what happened, he sounds like a jerk.”

“Literally the _exact_ kind of person I _abhor_ ,” you clarified, sitting back and carefully sipping at your hot tea, “Even in school, that whole jerk thing not only repels me but _actively_ angers me, and I will never understand why that makes _me_ the odd one out in a room full of women.”

“I don’t know if it would just be that _one_ thing,” Spencer spoke lightheartedly as he put his coffee back down after taking a sip, “You’re…pretty unique.  Not a lot of people would fight _against_ being paid for their art, see vines growing _inside_ their home and decide to treat them like houseplants, or take a week off work to take care of a kitten they just _found_.”

As odd as those things made you, they were some of Spencer’s favorite things about you.  You loved art, and the idea of charging your friends to do something you loved was just so _bizarre_.  You did odd little things like take care of the vines growing along your window or crack open the bottom frames of the window when it was raining.  You saw someone in need of help and just dropped everything for them, even to the point that you just had a natural pull to outcasts, people who felt they were on the outside looking in.

“Or laugh at bad jokes.”  You smiled behind your cup of tea, memories of the best – or worst – bad jokes Spencer had told running through your mind.  That, and he seemed to be so…fond of things that you’d always done, even when you were a kid.  Things that weren’t the Interpol informant, the MI6 spy, or even the FBI agent. 

Things that were just… _you._

“I – I don’t…they’re not _that_ bad.”

“Your existentialism joke _murdered_ a room of _forty college students_ and a psychopath that suggested a _better punchline._ ”  You giggled at the memory, standing in front of the classroom as you had to hide your giggles behind your hand as Rossi cut in to redirect back to the point of the presentation, only minutes before Rothschild approached the three of you, suggesting the punchline…right before he handed you photos of women he’d kidnapped and murdered.

“ _You_ laughed.”

“Yes, but I laugh at bad jokes.”  Your giggles only grew as you placed your cup back onto the table, recalling the specific event of the joke so _clearly_.

Damn.

You had him there.

But, you were smiling and giggling up a storm.  Even though you seemed to be dealing with something, he’d still managed to cheer you up a bit.

That felt good.

“You were so proud of your joke.  It was so cute.”

 

********

 

A waitress who had come forward after the press release had helped clear things up.  She used to be a prostitute, the unsub had called her and when she arrived at the hotel he started ranting about how she was _the help_.  She tried to escape, and ended up giving the unsub his scar in the process.  She barely survived being stabbed, she wasn’t ready to kick heroin yet, but she survived and got clean.

She left her past behind, learned from it, and moved on.

You wished you could have talked to her a bit more, you only met her after Hotch and Rossi had sent her your way to get some more detail on the sketch.  It’s not like it was a _secret_ you were an artist, it wasn’t what you usually did with the team but if you were free you were willing to offer your talents, and most of the sketch was already fairly accurate.  Still, as you escorted her out of the precinct, as cramped as it felt it could be a maze with about fifty doors and fifty more hallways leading to the local Tax Office or some other municipal office.

“Hey,” she was unsure as she stopped in front of the door, clutching at the strap of her bag as she looked down at the toes of her sneakers before she gathered herself and looked back up, “Whatever you did doesn’t make you who you are…I just…I know that look you’ve got and I – I know what that’s like.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relaxing a little and holding your hand out to shake hers, “Be safe out there.”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a soft smile, a former life having made her cautious about law enforcement, but she was still adapting, still growing and changing like everyone else does until the day they die.  You didn’t know when you forgot that.  Maybe you never really knew it.  “You too.”

You made your way back upstairs just as the team finished briefing the local detectives and on-shift officers on the profile, letting the door to the stairway shut behind you as you shoved your sleeves up to your elbows.  You loved your sweaters and long-sleeve shirts, but they just felt so _constricting_ if you kept your sleeves down for something other than keeping warm.

You knew the profile, the team always discussed it in detail before presenting it.  The unsub was an alpha male, in good shape for both his self-image and to easily subdue his targets, confidant, he wants to stand out and took Viper’s class, he has an obsession with cleaning, likely works in the service industry, thinks everyone looks down on him, possibly uneducated but not stupid.  Then, there were Viper’s pickup lines.  You knew what to expect there.

“I think I might just stay home and man the tip line tonight,” Spencer brought up as the team gathered and locals left, “Clubs aren’t really my thing.”

“Look, none of us are getting out of this, but if it will help I’ll go with you,” you offered, leaning back against a nearby desk and patting Spencer’s arm, “Because clubs are hellish dens and nobody should be left to wander that pit alone.”

Spencer still didn’t _like_ that he wasn’t about to argue.  If he _had_ to go to a club he’d much rather go with you than anything else.  He did notice you’d shoved your sleeves up, and you seemed a bit more…comfortable as you ran a hand through your hair.

“Oh no, pretty boy’s coming with me,” Morgan denied your offer immediately, “I need a wingman.”

“Hmm,” you pretended to think about it before snapping back, “ _No.”_

“Actually,” Rossi cut in, sounding like he was about to deliver some bad news as his gaze shifted from you to Hotch, “there is another angle we need to pursue.”

“We still don’t know what made the unsub change his victimology,” Hotch seemed to be in agreement, though you had a gut feeling it wasn’t just about the _victimology,_ “What made him stop killing prostitutes and move into the clubs.”

“The answer might be something in Viper’s class.”  The second you heard Rossi say that, you knew where this was going, “But to figure that out, we need to profile the teacher.”

_No._

“You need to bait him then,” Morgan chimed in.

_Not him too._

“It has to be someone he sees as a challenge,” Emily chimed in.

_Emily you traitor._

“We need to study his style up close and personal,” Spencer specified, hands tucked into his pockets as his apprehension over going into a club turned into building amusement, “It’s gonna take someone that he’s already attracted to.”

_Of all the people…_

You looked down at the floor, letting out a pained whine as you visibly cringed at the thought.

_Oh fuck my life._


	20. Everyone Deserves A Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 and Rea is all dressed up to get hit on by a sexist pig while Spence gets another girls number...
> 
> That's a way to celebrate chapter 20 I guess...

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Everyone Deserves A Chance

 

Emily had been the one to tell you Jordan was in the doghouse with Hotch, and Emily had been the one to take a risk giving you a reference when she knew just how hard it could be to quickly adapt from an environment that’s willing to do anything to get closer to closing the case to Hotch’s strict moral code.  You weren’t surprised when she approached you about taking Jordan with you instead of her.

“She needs a chance, and Hotch isn’t about to give her that on his own,” she reasoned as you spoke in private, “If you ask to take her with you, he might not _like_ it, but he’ll agree.”

“No, I know, he never would have given me a chance if you hadn’t said something first.  Not with my career record, it was too likely I’d do something he wouldn’t agree with.”  That was nothing to say of the _warning_ Emily had given you before you started.  JJ didn’t have a chance to warn Jordan before going into labor.  “I’ll go talk to Hotch, tell him you’ll just enable me to start stabbing or something.”

Emily laughed as she took steps to leave, “It wouldn’t be a lie.”

 

********

 

You’d picked up a dress from a local store, Emily told Jordan to do the same and promised that you and she would deal with Hotch.  You were in the women’s locker room, alone, when Hotch knocked on the door and called your name to see if you were there.

“Come on in,” you called, pulling out your studs to replace them with nicer earrings.

“You’re ok with this, right?”  Hotch asked after stepping just far enough into the locker room to have a face-to-face conversation.  He had to make sure.  If you had a problem, he’d send you out with Spencer instead.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse just chasing off some of Em’s exes.”

There was a brief silence as Hotch processed that information, “Wow…”

“And that’s not even starting on my career,” you joked lightly, “I was thinking it would be best of Jordan came with me, though.  Emily just enables my initial reaction to _walk away_ and most of Viper’s tricks involve dealing with two girls before… _picking_ one.”

“Prentiss told me, but…I caught her in a lie.  She cut corners to get us in with the Holden family.”  It still wasn’t something Hotch was okay with.  Despite your lighthearted approach and agreement to do this, Hotch still didn’t like the idea of sending you out to profile Viper.  Now you wanted him to send you out there with someone he didn’t trust.

“I know, but you need to remember she’s used to dealing with Terrorism Prevention.  In that kind of environment you do _anything_ it takes to get answers and wrap up the case as soon as possible.  Telling a few lies is nothing,” you brought up the difference of expectations gently as you unclipped your gun and knife from your belt and onto the top shelf of the locker for the time being.

“You managed.”

“To be honest, I never would have made the cut if Emily hadn’t warned me about what to expect.  I’m not saying Jordan was right, and I’m _definitely_ not saying you’re being unreasonable as your expectations are _exactly_ what we need, but she just didn’t know to expect that.”

“She misrepresented herself.”  That was far worse than misrepresented the bureau.  That was something that Hotch might not be able to forgive, at least not personally.  You’d never misrepresented yourself, never lied about what you’re capable of, never lied about who you were, and your only response to questions regarding redacted information in your file was simply – even if you were doing it lightheartedly with a smile and a teasing comment – to say you _couldn’t_ say anything.  You’d taken the job seriously, proven yourself as an agent and person, and Jordan hadn’t.

“Maybe, but this was a first strike.  She knows better now, and she won’t be able to prove that if you never give her the chance.”

 

********

 

Clubs _really_ weren’t his thing.

Even when he was just there to hand out fliers about the unsub, he’d ended up asked if _he_ was the unsub.

Morgan had ditched him as _soon_ as they walked in the door, and Spencer was once again reminded that rambling off facts awkwardly was _not_ something girls liked.  After yet _another_ failed attempt, Spencer found Morgan.

“So?” Morgan asked as they made their way through the club, even though he’d seen the girls walking away from Reid as soon as they had the chance, “How’s it going?”

“Not good, I gave the profile to one woman, she asked if _I_ was the unsub.”  Eidetic memory or not, that attempt was something that would stick with him, “How are you doing?”

“Well, I gave out all my fliers.”

“How many numbers did you get?”  None of this was surprising the genius.  He’d expected this, that was why he’d been more willing to go when he thought he’d be going with you.  Then you got roped into dealing with _Viper_ all night.  It was looking more and more like Atlanta was going to be the bane of _both_ of you.

“ _None_ ,” Morgan was _almost_ offended Reid asked, though he could see why he did, “I’m working a case here, kid.”

Reid wasn’t buying it, and that was clear by the way he’d raised his brow and nodded just a little in a silent _‘yeah, sure.’_

“Okay, four were offered, but I didn’t take any of them.”

“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if I’d come here with [Y/N].  I should have just…stayed back at the precinct and fielded calls.”  It made sense.  For starters _he_ would have been more comfortable.  That was nothing to say about the fact that women are just naturally more comfortable around other women, or that you were always able to… _make peace_ when he’d gone and said something stupid.

That was _exactly_ what Morgan didn’t want to hear.

Yes, he’d admit, that if you and pretty boy got together it would be great, but that wasn’t a guarantee.  Hell, the two of you had decided – on your own without any solid FBI regulations – that it was best if you didn’t date.  You’d spent a _lot_ of time together over the last year and yeah, sure, there was some light flirting here and there but it didn’t look like it was intentional.  As close as the two of you were, it didn’t look like there was anything stronger than a close friendship. 

There was no guarantee there _would_ be, and it just wasn’t fair to _either_ of you if you didn’t get out there and _try_ just because you met in some _meet cute_ situation and then found out you were going to be working together.

“Alright, look, let me school you real quick.”  Morgan was determined to help Reid.  The younger agent was listening intently, that was good.  “What you have to do with these ladies, just take control of the conversation.  When you’re talking, what makes you feel like an expert?”

“Uh – statistics.”

 _“No_.  Trust me.  No.  Something else.”

Reid was running through the things he could do, things he was good at, things he was _confident_ about.

“Well…when I do magic –“

“See?  See, that’s perfect.  Chicks dig magic.”  Morgan wasn’t lying, he actually believed Reid had stumbled across _gold_.  Looking back on high school, Reid couldn’t think of a _single_ time a magic trick had impressed _anyone_.  Even at Cal-Tech the only people that seemed impressed were either drunk or high.  Was it an age thing?  Did social trends just change?  That second one would make sense, he didn’t put any effort in trying to keep up.

“I’m gonna give you a chance to work it, come on.”

Oh yeah, the _bartender._   Reid was going along with it, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think, _‘yeah, great plan, Morgan.’_

 

********

 

“I know you say you don’t go to the clubs often, but I’m finding it kind of hard to believe,” Jordan teased lightly as the two of you stepped into the club after you sweet-talked the bouncer and got in without waiting in line.  Then there was your outfit.

It’s not like you looked ugly in the slacks you normally wore, but it took you a total of fifteen minutes – plus travel time – to find the sleeveless little black dress that would serve your purposes.  Wide black V-neck perfectly fitted to cup your breasts, the lightly scrunched design clinging to your thin waist and the curve of your hips, the hem landing at your mid-thighs to show off your legs, and the strut in your step.  The pale gold dangling earrings and matching small gold hoops in the few additional piercings along your ears and small chain bracelet that matched the pale gold clutch that – she _assumed_ – held your gun, wallet, and badge.  Hell, even your _hair_ looked like it was brushed right into place and you’d the dusty smoky look and soft red lipstick was perfectly placed. 

There was no way you hadn’t been in a club before.

“I didn’t start out in the BAU, and half of being an MI6 field agent is wearing a mask, playing a part long enough to get what you need,” you answered as the two of you walked to the bar to get some drinks, your bourbon on the rocks not at _all_ surprising but taking a whole new appearance with your current attire, “It can get difficult using those skills under Hotch’s expectations, but if I figured it out _anyone_ can.”

Jordan didn’t have a chance to respond, especially since she’d looked over to you at this…surprising explanation.  She put together what it meant, it was just…the two of you hadn’t worked together often.  She hadn’t expected something like this.

“There’s Viper, I’ll take a table within his line of sight, you stay back.  You’ll see when the right moment is, it’ll be fairly obvious.”

It didn’t take _long_ for him to approach.  You let a few strands fall over your shoulder, picked a table that was _directly_ in his line of view, and took a sip of your drink when you knew you caught his eye.  It worked on criminals who knew what to look for, you were willing to bet it would work on someone who had _no idea_.

That was half the reason you didn’t trust _anyone_ who was too smooth or alluring when they first met you, someone who fit the profile of someone who could get anyone’s number if they wanted.

You’d learned how to do the same damn thing to get a man alone and kill him as part of _your fucking job._

“This is a nice surprise,” he greeted confidently, placing his drink on the table.

“Well, local cops and the FBI are combing all the bars you go to, and my luck has this habit of getting worse and worse with each passing day,” you responded casually, shrugging it off, your height difference making you look up – hardly something you _weren’t_ used to being under 5’5” without your heels – and casually tossed a few strands of hair out of your eye with a toss of your head.

“Lucky me, then.”  His smile was just short of a grin, acting like he was charmed by his turn of events…like he was _charmed_.

“I’m _sure_ you think that,” you retorted, coyly playing hard to get to keep him roped along, Jordan knew when to step in, and lifted your glass to your lips once again, a faint stain of your lipstick left behind but there was no change in in the appearance of your painted lips, using Viper’s own words to draw something out of him, “What I just can’t wrap my head around is _why?_   It’s supposed to be a _jungle_ out here, right?”

“Because it’s a game, one I’m good at,” he shrugged it off like it was _obvious_ , “And I want to help other guys get good at it, too.”

“You mean, guys that aren’t the _stereotypical_ alpha,” you clarified, fully aware there were _far_ more than just _one_ type of _alpha male._ This fool was hardly _any_ kind of alpha.  “I’ll admit, I’ll get the sex for fun part, but the emotional connection, the affection?  That doesn’t sound much fun.”

That was a lie.  That was a _bold faced lie_.  Well, the sex part wasn’t, but you wanted nothing more than to be able to _actually_ connect with someone.  You doubted it would ever happen, between your history and trust issues…the chances of someone sticking around were _astronomically_ slim.

“No.  The fun is in the initial spark,” he corrected, confidently just _handing_ you pieces of his profile, “It’s that thing a guy does in the first five seconds that makes you go – “

He snapped his fingers in your face.  You knew this was entirely unintentional on his part – or _intentional_ if he thought you were thinking about him – but there was still that image that flashed in your head.

That street in the city, the flower stand, the orchid in your hands that you’d long since pressed to keep for reasons you _still_ didn’t know, an awkward man clearly out of his element that was drawn to you by the fact you seemed to need help and stuttered attempts at a compliment followed by surprise at receiving your phone number and fascination at something you still thought he was far too humble about.

“Him.”  The look on your face must have sent a different message, because while he kept going, Viper moved just a little closer.  “What you’re talking about is a different beast.  You can’t fake it.  You have to want it.  Now, why are you really here?”

His attention was drawn away from you and to Jordan as she approached, placing her drink on the table and leaning forward against it as she asked, entirely unimpressed, “Is, um, _this_ the guy you were telling me about?”

You stepped back, _very_ pleased in the stunned look on Viper’s face as you introduced, “SSA Jordan Todd, meet _Viper_.  Jordan this is _Viper_ , and apparently he’s the best thing to happen to women since the orgasm.”

“Really?” Jordan was _wildly_ unconvinced and just barely kept her scoff under control, “That’s a high bar.”

Viper laughed weakly as he gathered himself, “You brought a friend.”

“There’s a killer on the loose, you know that,” you teased coyly, leaning against the table with a smirk, “A girl can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah, Viper,” Jordan leaned against you, as she joined in, “Who gets _pushed_ and who gets _pulled_ tonight?”

Ooh, good move, showing him you knew all his techniques.

This was going to be _really_ fun.


	21. It's Just...Not Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I felt like confessing I’m a major fan of the TV show ‘Chuck’ which is all about a nerd who eventually gets the hot spy-girl, much like this fic. I also feel like confessing I really like how they ended it. It’s not the ultra-happy ending I was hoping for but…it’s bittersweet and open to interpretation. Idk. I really like the show and I really like the ending.
> 
> Anywho, I highly suggest checking it out if you haven’t already. It used to be on Netflix, but I own the series on iTunes so I didn’t exactly pay attention to whether or not it’s still on Netflix. You can also find clips on YouTube, but idk if you'd be able to find full episodes.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### It's Just...Not Right

 

You were right, messing around with Viper really was fun, and at that exact moment you were watching as he stared into Jordan’s eyes talking about eye contact.  About how you instinctually avoid it when you’re attracted to someone and how the pupils dilate.  You stepped in after fifteen seconds.

“Alright Jordan, let’s see,” you interrupted, the other agent turning to face you so you could see if her pupils were dilated, “Nope, nothing.  If anything it’s had the opposite effect.”

“I guess chemically, we’re not a match.”  Jordan wasn’t hung up on that, she _really_ wasn’t, and she didn’t care who knew it.

“Only because you have someone else on the mind.  Once that happens, the attraction center in the brain shuts down.”  He was acting like he didn’t care, to be fair to him Jordan wasn’t the one he was really trying to rope in, and that was obvious in the way his attention shifted to you and he smirked.  “Your turn.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You scared I might be right?” he chuckled.

You chuckled along and smirked, “More _confused_ than anything.  I just…can’t figure out what the unsub learned from you that helped him change so much.”

“What are you talking about?”  Viper was on the offensive, trying to prove himself.  “He took my look, my words – “

“So, it’s just something about _him_ then,” you reasoned, you and Jordan standing close enough together that your arms and shoulders were touching, but to be honest…it was a bit like a blast to the past.  The _good_ parts of the past, anyway, as you worked with another agent who knew _exactly_ how to deal with someone like this.  You knew Emily did too, of _course_ she did, but you didn’t always have the luxury of knowing everyone you worked with in MI6.  For the first two years you’d be told you were going on a mission, you’d find out you were working with another field agent only a handful of times, and the two of you were trusted to work together despite the fact you’d never met before.

“Because _that_ guy can get beautiful women into his apartment, I wouldn’t let you on my Facebook page,” Jordan added, slamming the nail into the coffin.  You were so close to getting him to snap, to getting that final piece of the profile.

“Oh!” you exclaimed excitedly and turned to Jordan, “You’re on Facebook too?”

Jordan turned to you, bringing the attention away from Viper, “Yeah, you should friend me – “

“ _Hey, hey, hey!”_   Viper did _not_ like losing your attention like that.  “I gave him the routines that made him what he is.”

“Then he’s clearly figured out something you don’t know,” you shrugged it off, so unaffected like you didn’t even care about him.

Beyond him irritating you, and his role in the case, you really didn’t.

“Cause we’ve been watching all the women in the club.”

“Not a single one of them has looked your way.  So…who do you go home with?” you questioned further, poking and poking at that pressure point to get that final piece you were missing, “Or…do you go home alone?”

For a case, this was actually pretty fun.  For your personal time, you’d rather suck on a fish that’s been dead for three weeks.  Honestly, it was one thing to be poking things out of a witness to help solve a case, working with another agent to poke at a jackass that literally taught a serial killer and didn’t even care.  It was completely different to be going to these clubs for fun.  The music was obnoxious.  The lighting was either too bright or too dark, the whole thing was based on a person’s appearance, there’s no real chance to talk to somebody, and as a woman even if you did go to a club to hang out with the girls one of you would eventually have to chase off some pig.

It _sucked_ and you couldn’t fathom why someone would _choose_ to put themselves through this.

Viper buried his frustration in feigned laughter, “That was good.  That was really good ladies.  That was really good.”

He dropped the laughter and decided to act like he’d caught you in the act.  “Don’t you think I know why you’re here?  One of my students copies my moves, and you’re here to get inside my ind.  Don’t you see?  I confronted my _Queen Bee_ a long time ago.”

You tilted your head.  _That_ was something new.  “Queen Bee?  What’s that?”

 _“You are_ ,” he practically seethed, “And so is every other confident girl in here who’s loud when she’s drunk.”

“Alpha female, best known for bringing down the alpha male.”  You put the pieces together, you were getting closer.  Just a bit more.

“Every student who’s ever taken my class has had one in his life.  And the _first_ exercise my students have to complete is to confront their Queen Bee.”

_Jackpot._

“Come on, Jordan.”  You tossed back the rest of your drink and picked up your bag, “We’re done here.”

You pulled your phone out of your clutch and waited to hit _call_ until you were outside with Jordan, the both of you making your way to the car.  After Hotch answered, presumably on speaker phone with Rossi, you started.

“The first step of Viper’s ‘program’ is to confront a ‘Queen Bee,’ a woman that’s the source of the first rejection, and then they make her pay for it,” you gave the final piece of the puzzle, the piece that helped explain why the unsub changed so much.

 _“He knew Vanessa Holden, she was his Queen Bee,”_ Emily jumped in.

“That’s why he stopped seeing prostitutes.  He took Viper’s class and decided to face his Queen Bee,” Jordan finished up, triggering Rossi to add in the final piece.

_“It makes sense with what he said to her that night.  ‘Don’t you know who I am?  Look closer.’”_

_“He meant it literally.”_ Hotch didn’t like _this_ turn of events, but he had no control over it.  He hung up, but likely to go speak to the family again.

 

********

 

“When you asked him what his mommy issues were ‘on a scale of one to ten,’” Jordan was still smiling over it as the two of you reminisced over the successful undercover operation, the two of you changing while Emily stepped in to join you after returning from speaking with the Holden’s again.  She’d stopped the two of you before you started taking off your dresses so she could snap a picture on her phone, calling it an _FBI Girl’s night out._   “I almost lost it.”

“What can I say?  It just comes to me,” you laughed as you tucked your sweater into the waistband of your black fitted slacks, waiting only _seconds_ before pushing the sleeves up.

“You know, as much as I hate what that guy stands for, I still read ‘Five Ways To Get Noticed,’ in Cosmo Magazine,” Emily admitted, sitting on the bench and laughing as you and Jordan told her about the night, grinning like a proud older sister who just learned her little sister told off a jerk.  That was, admittedly, what had just happened, but you never would have had to deal with said jerk if it weren’t for the case.

“Because it makes sense,” Jordan consoled, turning back to face Emily after securing her belt, “Hey, um, thanks for doing this.  Both of you.”

“Absolutely.”

“Everyone deserves a chance, right?”

There was a sharp knock against the doorjamb, Hotch didn’t dare step closer to the open door, “Jordan, Prentiss I need you all out here, [L/N] meet up with SWAT, the unsub’s kidnapped another victim.”

Jordan turned to you, a bit surprised, as you clipped your gun and knife to your belt, “SWAT?”

“Long story,” you explained dashing out and unaware that Emily only confirmed that with a nod.

“A _really_ long one.”

 

********

 

Robert C. Parker

932 Pryor Street

Garcia had used the information Hotch, Rossi, and Emily got out of Mrs. Holden regarding the son of a former cleaning lady and cross-referenced the attendance logs from Viper’s class to birth certificates naming mothers who worked or lived in Fulton County.  You had no idea how the team found out he took another victim, but it really wasn’t the time to ask.

In your experience, entering a building with a tactical team at your back was _not_ the time for that.

“I have eyes on him” you held your wrist up to speak into the radio strapped to it.

_“Team two is in position.”_

“I’m going in solo.”

Morgan didn’t like these plans.  He _got_ it, but he didn’t like it.  Spencer, though...knowing didn’t ease his conscious about it.

“Alone?”

“Best way to go,” you countered with a smirk, looking back at him briefly before slipping inside.  You checked the glass doors, just barely behind him and his cowering victim with a knife raised like it was some kind of ritual, and found yourself _very_ pleased with the fact they were unlocked.  After carefully opening the door, you stepped inside while slipping your gun back into its holster and stepped behind Parker before grabbing his wrist with one hand and snapping his elbow – the wrong way – with the other.

“I got him!”

That kind of injury tends to send a shock to the system, and it wasn’t hard to toss him to the ground and keep him pinned as you cuffed him, the rest of team one filtering in behind you as team two made their own entrance.  Morgan pulled Parker up, giving you a chance to look around as a force of habit, noticing something unexpected.

The victim was leaning in close to Spencer as he removed the duct tape from her mouth and wrists as she whimpered, “I called you…”

“I know, I know.”

_Huh…_

That was unexpected, but you went right back to work taking Parker out to a cruiser as Hotch and Rossi continued down the hall to find the second trigger that had yet to be found.

Just before the massive change in victimology, is mother had become ill.  Ill enough to necessitate a 24/7 connection to a home dialysis machine.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Parker realized she a victim of all this too…

 

********

 

“Look, Penny, I don’t like clubs, you laughed as Penny tried to insist on the two of you going out after the picture of you and Jordan circulated during the flight back home, “I’ve done it, just experienced it, didn’t like it.”

“Well yeah, cause you were doing it all wrong.  It was all missions and cases, not fun time with _Penny Delightful.”_

“Penny, you are very delightful,” you smiled and placed your hands on her shoulders and gave her a small smile before hammering the final nail into that coffin, “ _No. Clubs.”_

“But…Reid met a girl at a club.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have my trust issues and men weren’t the ones being picked up at a club hours before someone tried to murder them.”

Penny’s face fell into a grimace.  “Now _I_ don’t wanna go to clubs anymore.”

“That’s alright, they’re dreadful places anyway.”  You patted her shoulder lightly before taking off for your desk, both your attention and Morgan’s brought to the small FedEx package being delivered to Spencer’s desk while he was on the phone.  You’d heard the story from Morgan, after a magic trick as he talked about the unsub to the bartender – Austin – she asked for his number and had the bad luck of being the final woman Parker kidnapped.

Based on the conversation, it’s a safe bet that’s who he was on the phone with.

When you saw the contents of the small package, his card with a lip-print in bright pink lipstick on the back, you and Morgan couldn’t help yourselves.  Though…you did give him the courtesy of waiting until he hung up.  Morgan stood up and the two of you clapped while you whistled and he let out a proud, and loud, “Way to go pretty boy!”

Spencer wanted to melt down his desk chair and die.  This was by _far_ the worst thing either you or Morgan had ever done – by far – to embarrass him.  He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t offended, he was just…well…

You were successful in your attempts to embarrass him, as Emily started cackling in her seat at her desk.

Still…there was just something he didn’t like about _you_ cheering him on.  It wasn’t a gender thing, he wasn’t offended, he’d brush this off in a few minutes.  He couldn’t put his finger on it…it just…

_It didn’t feel right…_


	22. Seeking Light In The Face Of Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never wrote a fic this long. I'm running out of chapter titles.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Seeking Light In The Face Of Evil

 

The case had been hellish.  Endless sleepless hours tracking down an unsub on a psychotic break that turned out to be a father of a middle-class family who had – as a result of his daughter’s death months earlier – snapped and killed the rest of his family in their beds before continuing to murder anyone who crossed his paths.  It was after seeing the bodies of the unsub’s family murdered in their beds that Jordan realized that, even though she’d _hoped_ filling for JJ would serve as a good way to permanently join the BAU, it wasn’t something she could bring herself to do every day.  She didn’t have the stomach to be dealing with cases like…

Cases that involved a man murdering his children in their bed without even being _aware_ of it even _days later._

The flight back to Quantico was mournfully silent.  Morgan _immediately_ sat by a window and buried himself in his headphones as he stared out the window, Rossi made a beeline to the bar, Jordan just seemed lost as she sat on the far side of the jet and just stared out the window in a daze.  Hotch spent the first few hours trying to push it all back by focusing on paperwork before he realized he was just…sitting there staring at the file in front of him.  Emily had tried reading the book in her go-bag, a long-time favorite she could always loose herself in, but she’d tossed it onto the table in front of her as it kept reminding here of the case.  Spencer was just _staring_ at the book in front of him, he wasn’t even going to _try_ sleeping, and you’d scooted down the couch to lean back against him with your head against his shoulder after staring at your sketchbook before giving up as the only image in your mind’s eye were those children.

Everyone silently filtered off the elevator and into the office to finish up, Emily’s questioning of who wanted to get food more to try and bring some life back to the rest of you than anything else.  It was when Spencer noticed someone was in the meeting room, and the rest of you followed, that you all started to smile as you saw JJ with little Henry.

After coaxing Morgan into handing the baby boy to you, watching as your smile grew as Henry smiled up at you before yawning and falling back to sleep, Emily couldn’t help but see glimpses of the young teenage girl she’d first met years ago.  The brilliant young artist so desperate to do what was right, a girl with an open heart full of love before the world forced her to become something else.  Emily worried about you, worried about whether or not it was right to include you in everything eve if that was what you wanted and they were almost desperate for information.

You looked up when Spencer stepped closer and placed a hand on your shoulder, his own smile growing into a grin as he looked down at his sleeping godson, and you smiled at the genius before looking down to the baby who had a tight grip on a lock of your long hair even in his sleep.

Yeah…you were going to be just fine.

 

********

 

“You know this could have waited until tomorrow, right?” you teased as you carried your groceries up the stairs to your apartment at the top floor of your building.  Not a lot of people looked for industrial lofts, most people in the Quantico/D.C. area were looking for something more modern and less ‘plaster falling off to expose the brick,’ so you only had two direct neighbors.  You shifted the reusable bags in your hands as you cradled your cell between your ear and shoulder and dug your keys out of your jacket pocket.  It was wet and cold outside, but you had shopping to do.

 _“It’s been bothering me for weeks and I need to know,”_ Spencer almost whined on the other end of the line, you could almost see him stirring too much sugar into his coffee as his mind wouldn’t let him let go of the latest rumor to circulate the BAU.  For a group of behavioral specialists, you’d think your office wouldn’t be the _most_ notorious for rumors.

“When have you ever cared about rumors of co-workers shagging before?” you chuckled as you bumped your door open and stepped inside before nudging the door shut.

_“Because JJ looked at me like I should know!”_

You laughed as you placed your bags on your kitchen table, the knock on your door catching you a little by surprise until you checked the peep-hole.

“Spencer, I’ll have to call you back.  Em’s here.”

_“Alright, but if you find out you’ll tell me, right?”_

“Don’t count on it, doc.”  You hung up just as you finished fiddling with the locks and opened the door, your amused smile and glimmer in your eyes vanishing when you saw the state Emily was in and ushering her inside.  Despite the high ceiling and massive window, your apartment always seemed to be comfortably warm and Emily didn’t realize her fingers and toes had gone numb until she stepped inside.  She made her way to the couch, well aware of your need to secure all the locks before stepping away from the door and following her.  She completely forgot about her jacket until you lightly tugged on it and she started to shrug out of it, still in a daze as you pulled one of the blankets off the back of your couch and wrapped it around her.

“Em, what happened?” you asked, rubbing the blanket against her skin in an attempt to warm her up, you’d worry about her soaked hair when she had some feeling in her flesh again.  Sardine had no idea what was going on, but saw people to give him attention and hopped onto the couch before pacing across both your and Emily’s lap.

“Matthew died…he – he’s…” she barely remembered you only vaguely had an idea of who he was and she didn’t know if she was shaking from the cold or grief, “He was an old friend and he – he might have been murdered…”

“Alright, I’ll get you some dry clothes and some tea.  You can stay here tonight, we’ll stop by your flat before going to the office,” you promised standing up before going upstairs to find something for Emily to wear for the night, “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Sardine just purred away as Emily absentmindedly pet him, and even after settling himself between you and Emily the calico cat started to scootch himself more and more onto Emily’s lap.  You came back downstairs to hand her some clothes to change into while you heated a kettle of water for the both of you, and she weakly smiled as she looked up at you.

“Thank you.”

 

********

 

You stayed with Emily as she went to the morgue with Morgan.  You adored Morgan and you knew he just wanted to protect the team, but he could be a bit…indelicately blunt at times.

Based on testimony Matthew gave before he died of a heart attack, he claimed he was going to be killed like ‘Tommy V,’ a man who had died of dehydration not long earlier.  Based on the information they had, there was no clear evidence that the deaths were connected, but Spencer was able to make _one_ connection.  You hadn’t mentioned anything about plans with Prentiss, and she wasn’t the type to just _drop by_ unless it was for a surprise party.  Now…it was making more sense.  You’d known Emily even before she joined the BAU, before you’d even started at MI6, it made sense she would go to you for comfort.

Even discounting the fact that your apartment or just…a call with you tended to be where Spencer sought comfort.

You watched as Emily seemed to be a million miles away after the sheet was drawn back.

“Is it possible someone could have induced the heart attack?” Morgan asked the coroner, you and he needed to focus on the investigation because Emily might not be able to.

“The easiest way to stop the heart is an injection of potassium.  I would have found traces.”

One victim from dehydration, another from a heart attack…you had nothing _proving_ torture, but it wasn’t uncommon for victims of torture to die from either one of those.

“Is it possible an intense amount of stress could have caused it?  Or maybe another drug?” you asked, keeping in mind to try and be as gentle as possible.  This was already hard enough for Em.

“I suppose it’s possible he could have been injected with epinephrine.  It wouldn’t register, because clinically it’s identical to the natural adrenaline in the body.”

Emily reached down to hold Matthew’s hand one last time when she noticed the rope marks, “Was he tied?”

“The wounds are superficial.”

_Yeah.  That’s not a no._

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”  Morgan would admit the rope marks were odd, but for the moment there was no proof of any investigation.  He was prepared to give that bad news, but with you standing between that bad news and Prentiss he was certain that it wouldn’t go over well.

“He bled heavily from his nose, but with the damage to his septum, my guess is that it was prolonged abuse of cocaine or methamphetamine.”

“Yeah,” Emily was still quiet, still in mourning as the loss was still settling into place.  She wasn’t surprised.

“And Thomas Valentine?” you requested to move on to the less painful reason the three of you were there.

“He died of dehydration.  There were traces of prescription anti-psychotics in his system.  I understand from his family he had a history of mental illness.”  She handed the file to Emily, who immediately started looking over it.  Something…something…there had to be something…

“Are these ligature marks?”

“Considering the self-inflicted wounds and the history of mental illness, the police didn’t suspect foul play.”

“so, you have two bodies with ligature marks – “

“Each superficial – “

“Superficial doesn’t make them any less _odd_.”  You couldn’t believe this.  A _technicality_ is the reason people overlooked the fact that two men died with _rope burns_ on their wrists.

“There’s no _medical_ reason to connect these deaths.”

_Fucking technicalities…_

 

********

 

Matthew’s family kicked JJ and Hotch out as soon as they found out they were investigating because _Prentiss_ suggested foul play.  All they got was his mother burned incense in the room Matthew died to ‘cleanse it’ and he was staying with them because they hoped he could turn his life around.  There were scuff marks on the floor around the feet of the bed, and Matthew’s parents had been in New York for the weekend and returned to find his body.

“My son’s soul was in the possession of evil,” Mrs. Benton defended before taking off.  Beyond that…they got nothing.

Things weren’t much different at Valentine’s home, though, even if the wife had taken the kids to her mom’s for a few days because Valentine was hearing voices.  Specifically because he was ‘cursing god’ and she ‘needed to protect her children.  There were scuff marks on the wooden floor, like the bed had been jostled around roughly and half-melted candles.  Then the wife said something _very_ strange.

“Do you believe in the soul?”

“I do,” Rossi answered while Reid decided to stay quiet.  He wasn’t sold on the idea.  It was a nice idea, but that’s all it was.

“Well, I believe Tommy’s is finally a peace.”

It was all more than strange, and Prentiss insisted that it was only because Matthew’s parents thought she was a bad influence.  They’d met in Rome when they were fifteen, his family was very religious, that was it.  Nobody was convinced, especially you, but you let it go for now, making your way to the round-table room to discuss what was found.  Penny had been snooping and found that both Valentine and Matthew went to Galicia, Spain at the same time.

“I did the quick guidebook thing.  There’s a church there, Santiago de Compostella, it’s visited by over 100 thousand pilgrims every year,” Penny informed after taking a seat at the table.

“Religion, again.”  It wasn’t religion itself you had a problem with.  It was _organized_ religion.  Most were harmless, sure, but so many took it and used it as reasons to do horrid things, tried to force everyone to believe the same thing, and that wasn’t even starting on the _wars_ it caused.

“Did his parents say anything about him going on a pilgrimage?” Spencer asked JJ, as Hotch had taken to standing right behind you and Spencer.

“No, the opposite, actually.  His mom’s said his _soul_ was possessed by evil.”

Emily was _not_ surprised, giving out a half-hearted _‘yeah,’_ as she barely kept from rolling her eyes.  JJ caught that, it might as well be worth it to ask.

“What?”

“Matthew had a thing about challenging the church.  He could…push it,” Emily explained, putting pieces of Matthew’s profile into place, “When we were in high school, his mom and dad consulted a priest because they were afraid he was possessed.”

“But I think in this case she was talking about drugs,” Hotch cut in, recalling that the only reason they were let in was because Mr. Benton thought they were there to investigate because of Matthew’s drug problem.

“Are you sure?  There’s a pattern here, the talk about evil and the soul, and scuff marks on the floor.”  Rossi wasn’t completely convinced, but he wasn’t about to pretend there was nothing strange, that there wasn’t a pattern growing.

“What are you driving at?”  Hotch wasn’t sure where Rossi was going.  When you took a moment to glance around, it seemed like only you and Spencer had an idea.

“Well, drug addiction and schizophrenia are two afflictions most likely to present as demonic possession,” Rossi was the most _regularly_ religious out of the team.  His parents had been religious, but never forced it on him, and it wasn’t until he really _saw_ evil that it all… _clicked._

“You think these were exorcisms.”  Morgan didn’t like where this was going.  He’d just found religion again the year before, and it was finally becoming part of his regular routine.  He, subconsciously, didn’t like that something might come and shake that again.  Not when Penny survived being shot by a _miracle_ at the _same_ time he’d gone to a church to pray in _years._

“I think it begs the question.”  He wasn’t convinced yet, but Rossi wasn’t going to ignore the possibility because it was more comfortable.

“Look, I know the bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there’s nothing more open to behavioral interpretation than religion.”  Morgan was standing firm on this.

“But there are a _lot_ of signs, you can’t just go and _ignore_ them,” you pointed out, keeping yourself composed, “Religion seems to be a key factor in _both_ deaths.  We might as well look into it.”

“Wait,” Emily cut in, she hadn’t known Valentine’s wife was religious as well, “Was Thomas’ wife religious?”

“She was concerned that he had been cursing god,” Rossi brought up the part that worried him the most.

“Exorcism rituals can take days to complete, it’s possible the stress induced could cause a heart attack.  Especially in someone with a history of drug use,” Spencer chimed in with knowledge you didn’t know he had but…you’d long since given up on asking how he knew so much and started reaching the point where you’d just ask Spencer first.  If he didn’t know, bets were there _wasn’t_ an answer.

“That would explain the timeline of someone dying of dehydration.”  That was the part that bothered JJ the most, the mystery of how someone could just die of dehydration at _home_.

“Guys, look, I’m willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualizes killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe.  But right now, we don’t even know if we have a crime yet,” Morgan debated once again, trying to remain objective.

“He’s right, we need to step back,” Rossi agreed before the bubbling tension turned into an argument, “Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories.”

Yeah…that was going to prevent the inevitable…


	23. It Can Be So Easy To Lose Objectivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety and depression suck balls. Add in chronic migraines and I’m having a hell of a week cause I’m depressed, anxious, and taking meds with caffeine in them cause they help with my migraines but I tend to get giggly and goofy in random intervals when I’m on caffeine. Writing this helps, along with the promise of a bunch of snow tomorrow. Snow and rain always calms me down. Especially since I live right on the edge between the town and ‘bum fuck nowhere.’ Literally, there’s endless fields on one side of the street and a really quiet neighborhood on the other. It’s REALLY funny just how clean-cut that line is.
> 
> I Googled ‘how to cause a brain aneurysm’ all while chanting to myself ‘I’m a writer. I need to research. That’s all this is.’
> 
> Also, after looking over some stuff, I’ve decided to move the story arc covering Rea’s last mission for MI6 – which caused her departure – will be covered before we cover her family shit. Originally I was going to finish up with that in sort of a ‘here’s where she started’ to ‘here’s where she ended’ thing but I think this is more poetic. Kind of like…they’re reinforcing things they thought about her but didn’t know for sure before getting into the really deep shit that fucked up her chances for ‘normal’ in the first place. Think of it like we’re covering what she became first, and then going into why she never stood a chance and knows she never stood a chance – a.k.a. the root cause of all her psychological and emotional issues.
> 
> I’m not saying we’re gonna be doing that soon, it’s not happening till we start getting into the season 5 area, but kinda wanted to give a heads up. Originally it was going to be at the end as sort of a ‘grand finale’ but I feel like that’s just unnecessary – mostly cause I binged a bunch of Chuck episodes and remembered how much I like the ending of that show and since that’s a ‘nerdy guy gets the hot spy girl cause he loves her for who she is, flaws and dark past included, and not cause she’s a sexy femme fatal’ TV show and my love for that kind of trope knows NO BOUND (hence this fic) and felt like the original ending I had planned just…it didn’t fit as well as this new ending. I also planned on doing the explicitly original stuff at the end so it would be easier to tell when it takes place and there wouldn’t be so much of a rush to figure out which case it was, but like I said. I thought about it, and this new plan is just better.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### It Can Be So Easy To Lose Objectivity

 

Emily went home a bit early, saying she wanted some time to herself, and you let her go.  She’d know where and how to reach you if she needed to.  You were filing a few things before you left for the day, giving Spencer a chance to catch you on his way out.

“Hey, you wanna go grab some Thai food?”  You saw the way he was clenching and unclenching his grip on the strap of his bag, eyeing his hand before your gaze shifted up to his eyes, silently asking if he wanted to try that story again.  “I just…I know how you get when stuff involves Prentiss, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine, but if it’ll make you feel better we can get some dinner.”  You smiled as you closed the file drawer before making your way back over to your desk to pack up, tossing your head to the side so your hair draped over one shoulder and didn’t obscure your view of the smiling genius.  You jogged up to him, your coat in your arms as the two of you walked to the elevator.

“How are things going with Austin?”  Spencer had been talking to her for a while, you thought that maybe he’d take a trip to visit soon.  You hoped he would, anyway, because things were looking good.  She seemed like a good person that liked him, and if anyone deserves that it’s Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Oh, uh, we stopped talking…different interests and the distance…”

Okay, that was _partially_ true.  There were other parts to it that he just _really_ didn’t want to talk about.  Not with you.  Please don’t ask.  _Please don’t ask._

“That sucks, it seemed like things were going well,” you pouted apologetically before swaying to lightly bump your shoulder into Spencer’s arm and smiled, “You know, there’s a new Chinese place by my flat, right next to the old bookstore.  Rumor has it their noodles are really good and they won’t judge if you can’t use chopsticks.”

Spencer didn’t react immediately, probably pouting as you giggled, but just before the elevator doors opened at the first floor he ruffled at your hair and laughed as you yelped.

“Not fair!” you whined as you jogged to catch up to your laughing friend after you’d gathered yourself, still trying to straighten your hair out, “I look like Cousin It found out she could bleach her hair.”

Spencer’s laughter just grew, the image of the fictional character popping into his head just as you managed to get the last few strands of hair back into place, and the fact you lightly shoved him didn’t do anything to stop that.

He ended things with Austin because he just…wasn’t nearly as excited to talk to her as he was with you.  That wasn’t fair to her, everyone deserved to be with someone who wanted to talk and be with them more than anyone else.  That was a simple enough reason, one you’d understand, but you’d feel guilty.  You’d been so happy for him, quietly cheering him on in the background, and he couldn’t make you feel like it was _your_ fault – even though it wasn’t.

 

********

 

Penny screened a call about a 38-year-old white male found dead in bed by his fiancé.  After running the victim’s name, Patrick Cavanaugh, was in Galicia, Spain at the same time as the other two victims.  You didn’t know that until you arrived at the scene, meeting Emily to wait for Spencer and Morgan before checking it out.  All you knew was Penny called you saying there was another murder before giving you the address.  Getting in wasn’t the problem, show a badge and asked the officer what the cause of death was.

 _Brain aneurism_.

“This is kinda starting to freak me out a little bit.”  Spencer’s eyes immediately caught the scratches on the floor and the half-melted candles.

“Let’s figure out if we have a crime before we start freaking out.”  Honestly, you couldn’t tell if Morgan was still doubtful or…what.  He’d done this before, once with a case in Pittsburg that turned out to be an _Angel of Death_ and once again when he was reluctant to join in on a stalker case in Boston that resulted in the stalker kidnapping the woman he’d been stalking for years.  You fully understood trying to remain objective, but sometimes it felt like if the proof of a crime wasn’t so obvious it might actually _crash_ into like a runaway train, he just wasn’t going to go along with it.  If he wasn’t a profiler, and a good one at that, it wouldn’t _irk_ you so much that he could put so _little_ stock in the little details.

“Obviously, we have a crime.”  Emily immediately objected, turning away from examining the nearby mantle as the tension that had been building since the last time the team discussed the case came _right_ back.

As much as you wanted to support Emily, as much as you also believed there was a crime, you had to remain calculated.  You had to be _careful_.  You couldn’t _fuel_ the flames of the building argument.  Not when the argument was already between two people who were already led primarily by their hearts.

That last reminder triggered an interesting thought, a calculation that flew to you in a matter of minutes but was so clear you didn’t need to attach _words_ to the idea to understand it.  You’d long since figured out the team – the _profilers_ specifically – paired off into _experience_ , Hotch and Rossi, _heart_ , Emily and Morgan, and _logic_ , you and Spencer.  It was _this_ moment where another piece sort of came into place. 

It was because of his experience that Hotch was able to care so quickly, he’d seen the darkness and wanted to give his team and the victims some sort of reprieve and that drove him, even if that meant taking a cautious and calculated approach or throwing himself into danger without a second thought.  Whereas with Rossi it was because of his experience that he tried to keep his distance until he had a full grasp of who he was dealing with – and sometimes even afterward – but when he cared he put his all into it without a second thought.  When Emily was led by her heart, when she was rushing into the scene to confront an unsub, there was a spark of something darker led by _vengeance_.  In the same situation Morgan had a habit of swooping in like the hero of justice to shield the innocent.  While Spencer had come to find… _solace_ in his emotions, even the painful ones, as they gave him an identity and reminder that there was far more to him than the young genius led so much by logic, statistics, and facts.  He still shielded himself, protected himself from pain by hiding behind his intellect at times, but _everyone_ tries to shield themselves at some level.  That wasn't what stopped him from trying to find someone he could share his life with.  You feared what would happen, what you would become, if you ever let yourself act entirely on emotions, and actively kept yourself in control at all times, no matter the circumstance.  You hid behind humor, you let yourself care deeply, but you always feared what would happen if you were pushed just a bit too far.  You were afraid of letting someone in too close, for too many reasons to count.

Two sides of the same coin.

“Prentiss, how does an unsub induce an aneurysm?”

“Uh, could be caused by stress,” Spencer recalled his knowledge of anatomy.

“Yeah, like if you were restrained don a bed while someone tried to banish the devil from their body,” Emily continued to argue, growing more and more frustrated with Morgan’s reluctance to support her.  You took a deep breath, having chosen to stand by Spencer both in an attempt to keep out of the argument until it was time to step in, and have someone nearby to _keep_ you from getting involved.  Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way Spencer just about froze in the middle of tucking his hands into his coat pocket, the winter cold had hit the area hard and fast, and it was probably due to the deep breath you took as your gaze shifted to just _stare_ in the direction of the foot of the bed with your arms crossed just below your bust.

“Brain aneurysms are a result of a weakening of the walls in the brain’s blood vessels.  This initial weakness can be caused my multiple things, including genetics, high blood pressure, smoking, age, gender, cocaine abuse, body tissue disorders, kidney disease, coarctation of the aorta, and gender.  With this there are multiple things that can immediately trigger an aneurysm from stress, heavy lifting or strain, a seizure, or multiple mixtures of chemicals.”  You sounded like you were reciting the information in class, a glazed look in your eyes for that brief moment as you recited anatomical information _nobody_ in the room knew you had.  You couldn’t say that information helped _either_ argument, but Morgan’s question was answered.

Morgan didn’t have a chance to respond before the fiancé came in to talk to the three of you, solemnly asking, “Can I help you?”

“We’re with the FBI, we’re investigating a series of unexplained deaths,” Spencer briefly introduced the four of you, calmly, as he was likely the only one that was _actually_ capable of looking at the entire scene objectively.

“I don’t understand.”  She had been told it was a brain aneurysm, she thought it was completely natural, _or_ she had already made peace with…something.

“Uh, had Patrick been acting erratically lately?” Prentiss questioned, keeping her cool as best she could, but you recognized that edge in her tone – like a razor-thin wire pulled taut and about to snap, harming anyone in its path as the two halves flailed wildly.

“He had a brain condition,” she was growing defensive, “He was getting headaches, wasn’t acting like himself.”

_There’s the cause of the weakened blood vessels.  Wouldn’t take much to trigger an aneurysm._

“Were you aware of a trip he took recently to Galicia, Spain?”

_Emily was about to snap._

“There’s a church called _Santiago de Compostela_ , thousands of people make a pilgrimage every year.  He was there at the same time as the other potential victims we’re investigating,” you clarified as gently as you could, lowering your arms to sort of twiddle your thumbs in front of you, looking as unimposing as possible.  Wasn’t hard since you were easily the _smallest_ person in that room – as per usual.

You blamed your father’s side.  Old Irish stories of Leprechauns had to come from _somewhere._

“My fiancé travelled a lot for work.  I don’t know everywhere he went.”  It didn’t take a profiler to know she was hiding _something_.  She was stiff.  Defensive.  Far more so than someone who was in mourning.  Then there was the fact it just didn’t seem like she was in mourning, like she’d been _prepared_ for this to happen and _accepted_ it beforehand, like it was a _happier_ ending than one of the alternatives.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think you’re telling us the truth.”  Emily just called the fiancé out, her emotions driving here actions just a _tad_ too much.

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Did you believe Patrick was _possessed?”_   Emily was going on the offensive, there was that tendency for seeking _vengeance._

“I’d like some privacy, please.”

“Was someone trying to _rid_ him of _demons_?  Is that how he died?”

“No.”

“Because if you sanctioned an exorcism and that’s how he died – “

“Pardon us  if this seems, intrusive, ma’am,” you cut in, stepping forward to grab Emily’s arm to keep her from pushing any further, there was a chance she’d already pushed too far and you couldn’t let her push any farther, “The evidence points to this connection, and this is the third death within a matter of weeks.  I cannot imagine how difficult this is, but we need to cover every possibility.”

“I can’t help you.  You need to go.  Now.”

_Yup.  Pushed too far._

“We understand, thank you for your time.”

 

********

 

You’d driven back with Emily, Spencer riding along with Morgan in the other car, but you knew things were going to hit a breaking point when Hotch was _literally_ waiting for you in front of the elevator.

“What happened?”  There was a tenseness in Hotch’s voice, something that did not bode well for the investigation.

“I think there may be a third victim,” Spencer started off, focusing on the investigation first.

“Is that what you think?”  You knew, the second Hotch directed the question to Morgan.

Morgan spared a look at Emily before answering, “I don’t know.”

“If I may, in my experience, this type of kill is not something that exactly falls under Morgan’s expertise,” you once again chose your words carefully and slowly, knowing Morgan’s attention was _immediately_ snapped to you, “He has a great many skills, but recognizing subterfuge or an unsub that is legitimately good at covering their tracks isn’t one of them.  Yes, the evidence we have is circumstantial, but at some point circumstantial evidence becomes solid, and the fact they all have ligature marks, died while their family just _happened_ to be out of town, and just _happened_ to be in the same city within the same time frame is too much to just overlook.  That’s nothing to say about the scuff marks under the bed or the half-melted candles and scent of incense at the scene.”

Just last year, even after working on the case for a few days, Morgan was willing to overlook everything psychology and sociology taught about suicide rates after a tragedy, or the fact that Pittsburg was undergoing a nearly 200% spike in suicide and each death happened with _clockwork_ precision.  It wasn’t until a small puncture wound from a needle was found along the hairline of the latest victim that he agreed there was a killer posing his murders as suicide.

Hotch was about to put an end to the investigation, because _his_ bosses put an end to it, and that was going to be hard enough on Emily.  If someone was going to get in a row with Morgan, it would be better if it _wasn’t_ her.  As offended as Morgan was, he _knew_ he couldn’t argue – not with _you_ – and that just irritated him all the more.  There was no telling if you were saying this based on your _own_ expertise, or because you were just trying to protect Emily by acting like there was a murder when there wasn’t one.

“Hotch, it’s weird, definitely,” Morgan kept from snapping at you until the two of you were alone, “But there’s no way to physically connect dehydration, a heart attack, and an aneurism.”

You pulled your lips in and bit down, keeping your words to yourself as Spencer questioned why Hotch was waiting for you at the elevator like a frustrated parent waiting for their teenager to come home after curfew, “What’s going on?”

“Well, we’ve had a complaint.  JJ’s trying to smooth it over with the D.C. Police, but we haven’t been invited in on the case,” Hotch delivered the news as gently as he could, knowing this was going to be a blow to Emily.  There was a silence as he stepped away, letting the four of you either find a way around this wrinkle, settle out your differences yourselves, or – hopefully – both.

“Hey, that’s how you have my back?” Emily snapped _immediately_.

“Prentiss, I’m trying to _protect_ you.”  Morgan meant that, but that didn’t stop Prentiss from storming off into the office after you coaxed her into getting some tea and some food, well aware of the fact she’d probably skipped breakfast when Penny called her about the latest victim.

Spencer _wanted_ to go back to the bullpen with Emily, he _really_ did, but he knew that wasn’t about to be an option.  Not when _someone_ had to be there to step in if this particular argument got too far.

“Are you trying to protect her or yourself?” you questioned, turning to Morgan, your head cocked lightly to the side, “Because I have a great deal of respect for you and completely understand why your trust is hard-earned, but your immense fear of flying blind has a habit of effecting your work.  If you can’t trust us with personal issues could you trust us to do our _job_?  Or at very least keep in mind there has to be _something_ behind a majority opinion.”

“You lose objectivity when it comes to Prentiss, you could be almost as blinded as she is,” Morgan retorted, pulling on things he recognized after working with you, “How do I know you’re not looking for ways to encourage her just because you wanna make her feel better?”

Your answer, and how straight-faced and _factual_ it was, was _by far_ the most unsettling thing you’d ever said.  They all _knew_ it was true, they all figured it was something you did, but if they never talked about it they could ignore it.  If they never spoke about it, it was never real.

“Because the best way to learn how to recognize a stealthy kill is to learn how to _commit_ one.”

There was no forgetting that.


	24. Acceptance Can Be Found In The Strangest Of Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously. I wasn't kidding. I'm running out of chapter titles.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Acceptance Can Be Found In The Strangest Of Ways

 

Things were…noticeably tense in the office.  You’d eventually taken off for a long lunch and Morgan had yet to return from hiding out in Garcia’s office, the tech analyst diligently trying to find more connections between the victims _as per her orders_ , and while Morgan wasn’t going to stop her from doing her job he really didn’t want to drag her into the argument on top of everything.  She was just trying to help the best way she could, and if she found some kind of connection then Morgan would go with it.  It was just…the argument, the case, that _unsettling_ revelation…it was all piling up to be a very uncomfortable few days.

Out of everyone, Garcia and JJ had far more time to deal with your…sordid past, mostly because Garcia had hacked into your file right after meeting you and ran to JJ in a panic.  They’d known since day one.  For everyone else…it was a bit of a shock to the system at times.

Luckily, Garcia had found _something_.  Matthew had started an online support group for people who felt betrayed by faith.  On top of that, during the week all of the victims were in Galicia, the services at _Santiago de Compostella_ were cancelled because the priest died.  Officially it was a heart attack, but there were conspiracy theories that it was murder with the sole purpose of interrupting serviced during the height of the pilgrimage.  There were _multiple_ ways to cause a heart attack – the best guesses were a dose of sarin and stress – and that gave a motive and M.O.

Still, without an invitation, Hotch couldn’t support an _official_ investigation, but he wasn’t about to stop a few members from looking into things quietly.  Quite the opposite, in fact, as he’d urged it by simply reminding Rossi, JJ, and Garcia that it had to be kept quiet.  So, with a quick call to you and catching Prentiss at the elevator as she left the office, Rossi took the two of you on an _unofficial_ investigation – to hell with the rules and the backlash.

First things’ first.  He took you and Emily to his favorite coffee shop, bought the two of you coffee, and took you to a scorched house that served as the location for the _true_ story behind the movie _“The Exorcist.”_   It was a private enough place, topical as it was connected to the cases you were looking into, and nobody would overhear Prentiss’ confession.

“You’re sure he was murdered,” Rossi brought up the fact that it was _all_ started based on Emily’s convictions, “So, what’s the story?”

Emily had been hoping not to talk about it, just because what had been a pleasant memory had become so _painful_.

“Our investigation isn’t going to _stop_ if you don’t want to tell us, but something’s bothering you Em.  It might help to talk,” you offered, both hands clutching your coffee in an attempt to keep warm.

If she had to come clean about it to anyone on the team, though, she was glad it was you and Rossi.  She heaved a tired sigh before she explained.

“Matthew knew the bible inside and out, and he started to question everything.”

“Why?”  For as stern or snarky as Rossi could be, his tone was proof that – no matter what he thought – he was a _dad_ at heart.  You couldn’t say he’d always been that way, you’d only known him for over a year and some months, but it was true now.

Emily took a moment to compose herself, holding back her tears through the shaky tone of her voice, wounded and vulnerable as she told the whole story.  “We moved around a lot when I was a kid, because of my mom’s postings.  It was hard to get accepted, and when you’re 15, that’s all you want.  You’ll do almost anything.”

It didn’t take much to figure out what that meant.

“You got pregnant.”

Emily nodded through a long sniffle and nodded as she looked down at her boots, so used to judgement when she told people about this that the softer reactions of you and Rossi were…odd.  “Yeah.”

“Was Matthew the father?”

“No,” Emily shook her head, still looking down as she dug the toe of her boot into the muddy ground, looking up only when she was ready to continue, “I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t tell my mom…Matthew suggested I talk with our priest.”

“And what did _he_ say?”  That contempt in Rossi’s voice, aimed at the priest, you could wager a guess you _all_ knew what he said.

“Well, he said that if I had an abortion I wasn’t welcome in his congregation.”  Emily still held a grudge against him for that.

“So, what’d you do?”

“Matthew found a doctor.  He took me there.  He stayed with me.” Emily was barely keeping herself together, the memory only reminding her that Matthew was gone now, sniffling more as her voice shook.  “That Sunday when we got back to Rome, he held my hand and walked me into the church.  Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up and we walked to the front pew.”

“What did the priest do?”

“He and Matthew just _stared_ at each other.  It was like a battle of wills, and – and then suddenly Father Gamino went back to his sermon.”  Emily’s gaze was off in the distance, like she was watching it happen all over again.  “Matthew saved my life.  He made me feel…like I was worthy of…love and friendship.”

“But,” Rossi sadly brought up the side effect of that moment, “That’s when his anger and questioning started?”

“Yeah.  He started doing drugs, and when that melded with his religious questioning, you could understand why his parents were afraid he was possessed by something evil.”  Emily tried to shrug it off as she sniffled again.  “It’s my fault that Matthew’s life unraveled.”

“Em, questioning that intense doesn’t just _happen_.  He was going to find something he didn’t agree with and begin to question the church one way or another,” you consoled, stepping closer and gently rubbing her back as she carried guilt that wasn’t hers.  “None of this is your fault.”

“Garcia uncovered some information,” Rossi brought up the key reason the three of you were going to be carrying on the investigation, “It’s possible Matthew and the others killed someone in Spain.”

“No…” Emily couldn’t believe it.  Not Matthew.  “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued gently, “If we keep pushing, you have to be prepared for what we might discover.”

“I need Matthew to rest in peace.  I owe him that.”

“Then,” Rossi was determined to get moving with the case.  There was enough to put a profile together, and that was the best place to start.  “Let’s go give a profile.”

“To _who_ , exactly?”  You were beginning to think the old man had suddenly gone _senile_ and _forgotten_ there was no official case.  “The cops don’t think there’s a case.  We’re the only ones that think there’s a case.”

“The police aren’t gonna do us any good on this one, anyway.”

 

********

 

“Hey, I didn’t think we’d be meeting you here.”  You briefly recalled Rossi making a few calls as he led you to the church he attended, but you just figured he was calling a few priests in the area.  You didn’t know he’d be calling Spencer as well.  The poor genius had been waiting outside in the cold, hands tucked into his pockets as he waited because he didn’t want to go inside by himself.  Literally the only times he’d ever been in churches were for cases.  If he went in by himself things might turn religious and then he’d say… _something_ …

“There’s a case,” he shrugged, Rossi and Emily heading up the stairs and inside as you stopped to talk to Spencer before the two of you followed, “There are too many coincidences, and you’re right.  It doesn’t matter how or why, but you’re the expert with unsubs that cover their tracks this well.  If you say there’s a case, there’s a case.”

You ducked your head before smiling up at Spencer as he held the door open for you, the two of you following Emily and Rossi at a bit of a distance to the meeting room where you would be presenting the profile.  It took a bit for the priests to gather, they were coming from all over the greater D.C. area, and it took a little over an hour.

“As I was saying to the agents,” the priest that served as Rossi’s contact, and the man hosting this emergency gathering, introduced, “This is a topic on which we usually agree to silently disagree.”

“And we all respect that,” Emily confirmed, reassuring this wasn’t about attacking beliefs, “We are not here to examine your beliefs in demonology or exorcism, but we are operating on the theory that the person responsible for these deaths does believe.”

“We believe the inciting incident was the death of Father Raul del Toro in Galicia, Spain four months ago,” Rossi began, bringing a public and possibly painful memory back to the priests in the room.

“How so, David?”  It stood to reason they would ask a few questions.

“There – there’s an element who believes that the death was actually a murder,” Spencer mentioned the conspiracy theories which, even if they weren’t true, could serve as a motivator.

“You’re not suggesting that this is come kind of retribution?”

“Anyone can have a psychotic break, nobody is immune,” you warned gently, keeping your own beliefs to yourself, “He likely believes he is acting in the service of god.”

“The man we’re looking for would be obsessed with the event in Galicia.”  Rossi brought up a fairly specific identifying factor, something that a conversation with the unsub should reveal fairly quickly.

“He believes he’s fighting evil, and may very well have followed these men to Washington.”  Emily’s point offered some sort of comfort, the priest likely wasn’t from the local community.

“Uh, we believe that one of the exorcisms over enough days for the victim to die of dehydration,” Spencer chimed in with the differing timeline.  Some deaths taking days while others only took hours.

“Uh, if I may,” the hosting priest spoke up with information the four of you didn’t have before, “An exorcism is like a prize fight.  It’s completely draining both physically and spiritually.  Now, if this man truly performed three rituals, within the last few weeks, he would need medical care.”

This piece clicked for all of you, but Emily jumped onto it first, “Is there somewhere he would go to convalesce?”

“Um, anything less than a working hospital would be too dangerous.”

You and Spencer didn’t even share a look before you stepped out of the church to call Penny while Rossi and Emily continued to speak with the priests, the two of you moving on instinct – muscle memory despite literally never being in that _building_ before – seamlessly.

“Penny, you’ve got me and Spencer.”

 _“What doest my precious children need?”_   Classic Penny.

“We need you to get into local Catholic hospital records, focus on priests within the Catholic church,” you warned the tech analyst that she’d be working through medical records, mostly because they were deemed to be _confidential_.

You’d learned there was _no such thing_ with Penelope Garcia.

“Look for any admissions for exhaustion immediately following Patrick Cavanaugh’s death,” Spencer narrowed down the list, considering the amount of Catholic hospitals in the area there was a high chance it could still be extensive, “You got it?”

_“You know I do.”_

“Alright, now run the same search for the days immediately following the first two deaths.”

 _“Oh, I sense a cross check in my future.”_   Sometimes Penny got excited over the strangest things, and it never ceased to bring a smile to your face.

“You know the game _so_ well, darling, we’d be lost without you.”  You chuckled proudly as you waited a brief second before Penny gave you a name just as Emily was making her way down the stairs to see if you got anything.

_“One hit.  Father Paul Silvano.  Currently at St. Agatha’s hospital, room 214.”_

 

********

 

Diplomatic immunity.

_Diplomatic – fucking – immunity._

He agreed to come in for questioning, but even with that it was only a matter of time until you had the Italian government raining fire down on your heads.  That was nothing to say of what the Vatican would do.  Emily questioned the father herself, but you remained on the other side of the glass watching with a careful eye.  JJ had made some calls, filling in you and Rossi as the three of you watched, and apparently Father Silvano had a spotless record until four months ago – about the same time as the death in Galicia.  He tried to get a diplomatic posting from the Vatican, but they turned him down.  So, he took the World Hunger Mission from the Italian government, bringing him to the US with immunity.

He’d known the deceased priest in seminary.  A ‘concerned’ family member called him, feared his ‘real son’ never returned from his trip to Galicia, and you’d bet both your kidneys Father Silvano talked his way into doing an exorcism.

Not hard to do with _wildly_ religious families.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got some friends that could help out with this?” Rossi made sure to ask after he asked JJ to gather the others and wait for him, you were to stay behind and keep an eye on the interrogation.  As much as both of you trusted Emily, this was a delicate situation and she was heavily driven by emotion.

“I don’t really have _any_ contacts outside of MI6 and Interpol.  I don’t know if they’ll be able to help.”

“If you think of someone, give them a call.  Hotch is gonna need all the help he can get.”

 _“The storm’s almost over,”_ he said.

He had plans.

There was another victim.

Hotch’s hands were tied as soon as the Italian government started throwing a fuss, and the State Department _ordered_ Hotch to call the case off _permanently._   You returned to your desk and took a seat with a huff.  There was _nothing_ you could do.  There was nothing Hotch could do.  You doubted there was nothing _Strauss_ could do, assuming she would.  You just angrily sulked in your seat as you swayed back and forth.

“That’s it?”

You shot your gaze up from staring at the short partition ahead of you to see Morgan giving you an unconvinced – and angry – look over the partition.

“You reamed my ass in the middle of the hall just to _give up_?”  He could get over your argument, the both of you would, but he wasn’t about to forgive you for _giving up_.  Not like this.  Not when you were doing this for a friend in the first place.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?  Even if we _literally_ catch him in the act and _every_ witness says he’s the murderer, his diplomatic status keeps us from doing anything,” you snapped.  Again, you would get over the argument you’d had, but you weren’t about to let him think you were capable of doing the _impossible_.

“It’s not like I’m buddies with every powerful person in Europe.  I’ve only been to Italy _twice._ Technically _once_ since the second time I was only in – “

The record scratch in your mind could practically be heard by _everyone_ in the office, it sure as hell was visible on your _face._

“You alright pretty girl?  You look like you just got kicked in the stomach.”

“I’m a _fucking_ idiot.”

It was a risky move, and if Hotch _knew_ what you were doing he would get in a _lot_ of trouble.  You weren’t even sure it could work.  For all you knew, it would backfire in a _big_ way, but you just…you had to _try._   You spent _hours_ on the phone, giving you a chance to brush up on your Italian, and it was dark by the time you finally got _something._   Rossi and Emily had returned from talking to Matthew’s parents, trying to get something, when you finally got somewhere.  Emily was leaving with Morgan to stop the final murder, and after explaining _exactly_ what you were up to decided to leave you be without asking just what you did to get those contacts.

After politely requesting the Father to hold while you got Hotch, you dashed up the stairs and into Hotch’s office.

“Prentiss and I went to see Matthew Benton’s parents,” Rossi was just beginning to fill Hotch in on the impending problem.

“I gave her a direct order.”

“This one is all on me.”

“Well, that’s fine, Dave, but the State Department’s all over my ass.  Where is Prentiss now?”  Hotch was at the end of his rope.  He wanted to do something to help, he did, but he wasn’t a _miracle_ worker.  If the rest of you kept pushing too far there would be no BAU anymore.

_At all._

“She and Morgan went to stop it.”

“I can’t protect them.”

“I don’t accept that.”  Rossi knew, just as you did, that Hotch was absolutely willing to throw himself on a grenade for any one of you.  This was just a much bigger issue than he’d ever had to deal with before.

“Dave, governments don’t really appreciate being accused of accessory to murder.”

“So, call the Vatican!”

“Excuse me, hi,” you internally kicked yourself as your proper British manners kicked _once again_ and you cautiously slid into the conversation and explained, not quite sure where to start, “I couldn’t help but overhear and though I should mention I already made that call and, on that note, Hotch you have a call on line two.  You might want to take it on speaker phone, Father Bianchi’s English is a bit rusty…”

There was a stunned silence as Rossi and Hotch just stared at you, not sure where to start until Rossi burst and asked, “Just who did you get ahold of?”

“Bit of a story, but one of Father Bianchi’s best friends is the assistant of a member of the Roman Curia.  About four years ago one of Father Bianchi’s pupils, Father Esposito, was almost victim to an explosion that didn’t happen, and a co-worker of mine may or may not have been there.”

“You…” Hotch wasn’t sure where to start, “You talked your way into reaching someone who could talk to the Pope’s inner circle?”

“Well…uh…to be fair, I had no idea that would happen.  I don’t normally make it a habit to make contacts, let alone _call_ them.  I was never that kind of agent,” you admitted honestly, “I just sort of went in, did the job, and got the hell out.  Most of the time the only non-agents I dealt with were the people I was arresting or…otherwise dealing with.”

“Alright…” Hotch reached for the receiver of his desk phone, still not sure what to make of this, “We’ll take care of things from here.”

You nodded, stepping out to leave before Hotch called your name for one last thing.

“I want you and Prentiss to take the next few days off.  She needs some time, and she’ll need a friend willing to go this far for her.”

You gave a small smile and nod in the affirmative.

“Of course.”


	25. We All Learn A Few Things That Change Our Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Things with school have gotten super stressful and it’s not helping with the issues I’m already having.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### We All Learn A Few Things That Change Our Lives

 

“You still don’t know?” JJ couldn’t help but laugh, when Spencer had made his way to JJ’s office just to ask, it was just so… _Spence_.  He was one of the two agents in the rumored relationship and he didn’t even know.  She kind of wished he could remain clueless for just a little longer, but based on how the rumor had already spread _all_ over the sixth floor and onto the seventh, it was only a matter of time until it spread to higher-ups.

“ _No_ , why do you keep acting like I _should_?”  _That_ was the only reason Spencer wanted to know in the first place.  If it weren’t for that, he couldn’t say he’d be paying _any_ attention.

“Because that rumor is about you and [Y/N].”

_Ohh…_

Wait…

“What?  _Why?”_

“You’re always together here, you spend most of our time off together, you’ve _literally_ slept on the couch together on the jet at _least_ four times, you always sit next to each other _everywhere_ …” JJ was going to regret asking this next question.  She just knew it.  “Have you…not noticed?”

“ _No_ , because _nothing’s going on_.  We’re _just friends._ ”

“Okay, well tell the office full of behavioral specialists that,” JJ laughed as the profiler furiously tried to prove something that nobody was going to believe, “Nobody is going to believe you, but you can _try._ ”

Spencer froze…oh god she was _right._   If he tried to dispute it, nobody would believe him.  If he did nothing about it, the rumor would continue.  Should he tell you?  Did you already know?  Just what in the hell was he supposed to do about this?  Why was he so concerned?  You were just friends, you should be able to just laugh this off, but instead he was –

_Nope._

_Not going down that train of thought._

Not now.

Not ever.

“You okay Spence?”

“Yeah…” Spencer was still in a daze as he turned to leave, “Yeah, I’m fine.  Thanks for letting me know.”

JJ watched as Spencer left, making his way back down the hall and to the bullpen, and furrowed her brow in concern.  She honestly thought he _knew_ why that kind of rumor would circulate…

She hadn’t even mentioned the love-struck puppy eyes he’d shoot your way…

 

********

 

Hotch had everyone packed up and on the plane in less than an hour.  No discussion over whether or not there was a case, no official request for help from Boston P.D., none of you had any idea what was going on until you got on the plane and Hotch started briefing you on the case.

_The Boston Reaper._

He’d just randomly stopped killing in the 90’s for _no reason_.  Most people hoped the Reaper had died, but based on a recent murder that wasn’t true.

“The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate.”  Hotch got right back up after takeoff, pacing up and down the aisle as he briefed the rest of you on what he’d found the last time he faced the Reaper.

“So, then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?” Emily asked right off the bat.  She didn’t doubt that there was a case, but the entire situation was so _bizarre_ compared to what the team normally dealt with.

“Think about it, he offered the detective a deal he couldn’t refuse.  When he agreed, he had to live with the knowledge that he actively chose to let a killer go.  If anyone picked the investigation back up while he was still alive, the Reaper would start killing all over again,” you laid out the dirty details of the deal, the manipulation, out in the open, “He had the dominate position, he had all the control, and he manipulated a detective into practically breaking the law he swore to protect.”

“He even got it in writing,” Spencer added after looking up from the file in his hands.

“He won, why start killing again?” JJ questioned, if the Reaper got the ultimate payoff he shouldn’t need more.

“Well, because the only person who knew he’d one, the person he made the deal with, just died.”  Morgan quickly figured that the deal would only last until the detective or the Reaper died.  With the detective dead, of natural causes, the Reaper needed to find another outlet until he had a high enough body count to make another deal.

“Narcissistic killers _need_ other people to recognize their power.  That’s why they contact the media.”  Rossi was right.  That was practically profiling 101.

“So, how did he stop for 10 years?”  Emily wondered why a narcissistic killer wouldn’t seek out the largest audience.  How was he okay with just _one_ person knowing he’d won?  That was unheard of.

“In _Night of the Reaper_ , the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.”  Spencer picked up the book, entirely about the Boston Reaper, that he’d already read and _clearly_ remembered, “Perhaps he’s trying to correct that misconception.”

“Planning what he would do if he started killing again.”  Hotch was certain.  This was a case he let go because he was asked to, a mistake that haunted him, and he was determined not to make the same mistake again.

“It makes sense, but a comeback could have always been the plan,” you took a guess, an educated guess, before explaining, “He had to know the detective was much older, probably figured he could lay low until the detective died and then when he made a comeback it would get him even more attention.  The only thing that gets more attention than a serial killer is the _return_ of a serial killer – especially one that was never caught.”

 _That_ was a harrowing thought…

“So, from ’95 to ’98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons 21 victims, all ages, all types,” Morgan went through the basics of the case, the original case, as Emily kept flipping through photos of the crime scenes, “No specific victimology or M.O.  How do you build a profile from that?”

“We didn’t, Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance,” Hotch admitted, staring down at the file like he was trying to set it aflame, looking back up to continue where the last investigation left off, “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities.  They’re all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Spencer warned the rest of you, and you did _not_ like the fact that _he_ was the one giving out that warning, “The Reaper and the Zodiac Killer have never been arrested and the BTK killer was only caught after 25 years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he’d died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media, when this gets out it’s going to be a frenzy.”  JJ was _fully_ aware of the fact she needed to hit the ground running, she needed _something_ to start off with, at least an idea of where Hotch wanted to take the investigation so she knew where to start, but it was far worse than that.  “If they get wind of this, they’re going to be all over the Boston Police.”

“The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we’ll have of catching him,” Hotch began to dictate what you’d all be doing before there was any sign of landing soon, “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.  JJ, Reid, [L/N], we’ll go to the crime scene.”

 

********

 

After introductions, and showing the lead investigator Sergeant Mike O’Mara the letter the Reaper sent Shaunessy, JJ immediately went to work helping the Sergeant manage the nearby media surrounding the crime scene as well as complete the official paperwork for the invitation to the BAU.

You did not envy her for the hell she’d have to deal with during this case.

“Nina Hale, 19, and Evan Harvey, 23,” Spencer read through the preliminary investigation file as the three of you started to look over the crime scene.  “Nina’s Throat was slashed, she was stabbed 46 times.  Evan was bludgeoned and then shot.  No shell casings were found.”

“He preferred revolvers, .44 Magnum,” Hotch clearly remembered that from his previous experience with the case and stepped around the car as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

“Tan line on her wrist, probably wearing a watch of some sort.”  Spencer was working off of photographs of the victims, as they’d already been taken to the morgue.

“The reaper left an object from the previous victim at the crime scene, right?” you vaguely recalled your own experience with _Night of the Reaper_ years ago, “Took Nina’s watch to leave at the next crime scene?”

“Yeah,” Hotch responded quickly before asking a nearby officer, “Do we have his wallet?”

He immediately looked at Evan’s driver’s license to check if he needed glasses, “No corrective lenses requirement.”

“The glasses aren’t his?” Spencer questioned, almost needlessly, as you were all on the same page.  Evan was found with glasses on his face, but it got more complicated.

“He only took glasses from one victim – the ninth.  We should have found them on the tenth and we didn’t.  They were never found.”

You looked up at Hotch from leaning over to look into the car that had served as the crime scene as Spencer asked, “What was so special about the ninth victim?”

“He survived.”

 

********

 

George Foyet was 28 at the time of his attack, the only survivor of the Reaper, while his date – Amanda Bertrand – died at 19.  The Reaper’s general M.O. was attacking his victims inside or near their cars, at night, on poorly lit back roads.  According to Foyet, the Reaper approached pretending to be a lost tourist, they put a sketch artist with Foyet while he was in the hospital.  Ruses were far from out of the ordinary for the Reaper, it was how he got close to his victims.

“The eye as he depicts it appears to be the eye of Providence.”  Spencer held up the letter sent to Shaunessy, safely kept in an evidence bag, “A symbol adopted by the U.S. Government and incorporated into the great seal in 1782 with the words, _‘annuit coeptis_ ’ inscribed beneath.  That’s Latin for providence – or fate – has favored our undertakings.  The Reaper seems to see himself as the personification of fate.”

“Seven victims in, the Reaper must have known what he was doing.”  That was something that nagged at you.  It just didn’t make any sense.

“She’s right, how did he survive?” Emily agreed, her gut had been bothered by that just as much as yours had been.  Spencer – who was almost _ironically_ put in charge of running the laptop controlling the TV screen on the wall when hardcopy files and photos were scattered all over the conference table – pulled up a recording of the 911 call.

_“911.  What’s your emergency?”_

_“I just murdered two more.”_

_“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”_

_“Victims eight and nine.  By a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”_

Everyone looked haunted by that, especially Hotch.

“That call was made from a pay phone about a mile from the crime scene, EMTs arrived 15 minutes later, Bertrand was D.O.A., Foyet barely breathing.”  Spencer must have sped his way through all of the case files…taking in that much evil at once…you worried about him.

“So, the Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies.”  Emily wasn’t sure if that fit the profile or not.  On one hand, it fit in with his narcissistic need for attention, but it was too reckless for someone as calculated as him.

“Until this one, the ninth,” Hotch confirmed, memories of the last time he worked this case flashing through his mind, “If he hadn’t made this call, Foyet wouldn’t have been found in time.  The call saved him.”

“So, the Reaper didn’t make any 911 calls after this one?” Morgan found it just as odd as the rest of you.

“Looks like he learned his lesson,” Prentiss commented, sardonically, as was common when you dealt with cases like this.

“Found out he could accidentally save a victim and moved on,” you sighed in agreement, sitting back as you twirled the pen in your hand.

“There’s a reason he left Foyet’s glasses at the last crime scene,” Hotch held up the bagged glasses, more to look at them himself, before putting them back down, “Foyet could be in danger.”

“We’ll find him.”  Emily promised as the rest of you got up to get to work, save for JJ who had just gotten a call.

“Uh, Hotch, there’s a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.  Roy Colson, he says he knows you.”

With a nod, Hotch made his way outside, already fully aware this case was going to be one of the worst he dealt with.

None of you had _any_ idea.


	26. Gut Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, doing better. More confidant things will work out, but still anxious and tired.
> 
> Again, having something to work on helps, and the snow should be starting soon.
> 
> School bureaucracies are a bitch tho. One of the shitty things you go through for a good faculty.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Gut Instinct

 

You were pacing again, biting your thumb nail as you looked down at Foyet’s medical report in your hand.  It had come across the table as part of the case, and been brought along as four of you, with Garcia’s help, tried to find the man in an effort to keep him safe.  Spencer wasn’t sure if Emily had noticed you only pace during a case when something is bothering you – _really_ bothering you – so he decided to wait until the two of you were alone to ask.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know…it just…seven victims in and suddenly he screws up.  He has no preference for a weapon, no preference for a specific type of attack, he doesn’t even seem to specifically target victims in pairs.  Foyet is _far_ from the only victim he’s stabbed and yet victim number _nine_ is the one he screws up on?”  You were baffled.  Absolutely baffled.  It didn’t make any sense.  “I just feel like an intelligent unsub would have learned from his mistakes already, or at least considered he should _wait_ to make sure both victims are dead, but since so many of them were killed in pairs…there’s not enough to go on.”

“Okay, so why don’t you tell Hotch?  You might be on to something.”

“And tell him what?  That I’ve suddenly started listening to my gastro-intestinal system with no logical reason behind it?” you scoffed, lowering the papers in your hand as you gave Spencer an indignant look as he looked up from sorting through what little paper trail was on Foyet, “You know me, arguably better than Em does, you know I don’t do that.”

“Maybe not, but your gut is normally right in the end, maybe you should just…wing it this time,” Spencer recommended with a shrug, not expecting you to drop the file and heave a heavy sigh as you rested one hand on your hip and pinched the bridge of your nose with the other.

“Let me get this straight,” you spoke slowly as you put the pieces of what just happened together and tried to make sense of it, “A man with _three_ PhD’s – all in STEM fields – suggested a woman with a half-assed _art_ degree to _wing it_.”

“Yeah…”  When you put it that way, it sounded stupid, but Spencer still stood by his initial suggestion.

“The bloody hell is this?  _Opposite day_?”

“There’s been another murder,” Rossi stepped into the room you and Spencer were using to work, not waiting for a lull in the conversation, “Hotch and I will be at the scene.  We’ll be back.”

 

********

 

Based on the way this case seemed to haunt Hotch, you weren’t at all surprised he continued to work on it even after the BAU had been called off.  Ten years is a lot of time to work on a case, enough time to build an accurate profile no matter how much he told the rest of you that profiling is a collaborative effort.  Most of you were sitting back, listening, though Hotch had filled Rossi in on most of it on the way back from the crime scene.  Between that and Rossi’s own experience, it was enough to fill in the blanks.

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore.  Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn’t target a specific victim type.  Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone,” Hotch’s introduction almost served as more of a _warning_ , and that made sense.  _Omnivores_ were easily one of the more dangerous profiles to come across.

“Why is he so democratic?” O’Mara asked, more out of curiosity and need for information than doubt.

“Because his kills aren’t just about his victims.  He needs recognition.  He needs us to know.”  This had been weighing on Hotch for so long that it had already become personal.  You thought you were worried about Spencer for speeding through all the case files so quickly, you had no idea you were going to become _nauseously_ worried for Hotch.

“The symbols, the placement of prior victims’ possessions on subsequent victims,” Rossi clarified, helping Hotch where he could so the unit chief didn’t have to carry it all himself, “It’s all for us.”

“Why?”  O’Mara seemed determined to understand.

“Power.”  Hotch answered simply, listing off examples to elaborate, “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this.  He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

“The burden was too much to bear, in a very real sense.  Tom Shaunessy was the Reaper’s 22nd victim.”

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader, the Reaper is extremely disciplined.  In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can’t keep close relationships or work closely with others.”

Rossi felt it necessary to make an important point that had just come into play, “I believe our killer has another interest that may give us our best opportunity to catch him.  The Reaper’s last victim was an older woman.  He killed her quickly with a single shot.  The prior, younger victim he spent more time with and stabbed 46 times.”

“Why?”  O’Mara was almost becoming a broken record with that question, though you didn’t blame him for asking.  A trained and experienced profiler could put the pieces together, but most detectives didn’t need that kind of expertise.

“He pays special attention to his younger female victims and his weapon of choice with them is the knife,” Hotch reiterated a piece of the introduction to the profile before once again going into further detail, “A substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

“And the younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends,” Rossi added, “I think our guy is a hebephile.”

_“Hebephile?”_

“Someone who’s attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children.  Teenagers.”  Spencer looked up at the detective from his seat before looking ahead once again.

“Look for men with access and authority – high school teachers, counselors, coaches, and anyone who’s been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years,” Hotch advised, briefly looking at Emily as she’d just made her way into the meeting, likely with news of Foyet.  She said nothing.  That was enough proof that it wasn’t good news.  “That’s all for now.  Thank you.”

 

********

 

Foyet _completely_ erased himself, even Garcia couldn’t find him.  Foyet’s only connection to the world was Colson, the author of _Night of the Reaper_ , who had interviewed the infamous ninth victim.  Colson didn’t have a _number_ to contact Foyet, but he did have one of his alias’.  That was enough to track him down.  He didn’t have anything new, but it was useful to have all of his contact information just in case.  He was aware of the idea that the Reaper has some special interest in him entirely because he was still alive.

He also seemed to be in bad shape.  Limping, coughing up a storm, taking medication as soon as he stepped into the house.

The attack caused permanent damage…but not _fatal._

On top of everything, another ‘contract’ offer was dropped off at Roy Colson’s office.  Rossi took it to the lab, but you all agreed that was just a _formality_.  Someone like the Reaper wasn’t going to be stupid enough to leave any evidence.

Hotch managed to talk Colson into keeping the story quiet, but by offering full and _exclusive_ access to the _entire_ BAU.  Keeping the offer of a deal with key to keeping the peace but…well…

You had to hope Colson didn’t have anything to ask you about how you ended up at the BAU at 22.  The last time that happened, Spencer made the news.  By some miracle, Strauss had managed to keep quiet _specifically_ because it wasn’t safe to just out and _advertise_ a former MI6 spy had joined the FBI.  That was just asking for trouble.

Though, that quickly became the least of your concerns.

Two sharp knocks on your hotel door, you woke from a light sleep with the knife under your pillow clutched in your hand.

“[L/N], meet Reid at the field office.”  Hotch’s tone was sharp, bothered, but you didn’t argue.

“On my way,” you called, getting up and quickly dressing to get going.  You might have been paranoid, but you chose well-worn knee-high black boots with heels _maybe_ half an inch high to match with your skinny jeans and comfortable gray t-shirt, touching up your makeup and throwing a blue sweater overtop before taking off as you threw your hair up into a ponytail.

Six people shot on a public bus, not including the driver, before finishing them off with a knife.  The words ‘No Deal’ were written on the back window with blood, and the rest were decorated in a series of numbers that seemed entirely random, and that damn eye decorating the windshield.

“He never used code before, why now?” Hotch aimed the question to you and Spencer as the photos of the latest crime scene decorated the table.

“They’re not part of a pattern or equation.  I mean, mathematically, they’re insignificant.”  Spencer stood with his hands in his pockets, sleeves already rolled up, as he ran through all the more logic-based and calculative options, so you started on the more personal.

“Alright, so we go through the victims,” you suggested, your sweater already thrown over the back of one of the chairs as you leaned forward with both hands on the backs of different chairs, “Addresses, birthdates, phone numbers, anything that could be relevant.”

“Foyet said he likes to attack people in their cars,” Hotch focused on the one victim that the Reaper would focus on the most.  The only survivor.

“Which is why Foyet only takes the bus,” Rossi recalled the meeting with Foyet himself, the paranoid man was hard to forget.

“It was the number 7.”  Hotch stepped closer to the board holding up a map of the city to take a look at the route, “And it stops right in front of Foyet’s apartment.”

“He knows where Foyet lives.”

“He knows _all_ of Foyet’s addresses…” you murmured loud enough for the others to hear before standing up and speaking up as Rossi dug through his inner jacket pocket for his notepad, “All of these numbers, they could be from all of his addresses.”

“That’s exactly what they’re from…” Rossi compared the addresses to the numbers on the bus.

Hotch was already on the move as he gave the order, “We’ll split up and cover each address.”

 

********

 

Everyone reported in, holding their breath until Morgan responded.  He was fine.  Angry, took some glass to the shoulder and arm, and the Reaper had taken his credentials, but he was fine.  All because he was knocked out cold and the Reaper couldn’t interact, couldn’t _tell_ Morgan he was going to kill the agent.  Though, knowing that the Reaper was trying to get into Morgan’s head didn’t help him _at all_ no matter how much everyone kept telling him that.  When the paramedic was finished patching him up, Morgan grabbed his FBI jacket and took off.

He needed air.  He needed to breath.  He needed to just get this out.  He needed…he needed to catch this son of a bitch.

There was something else…disturbing.  A _massive_ blood trail leading from the kitchen to the back door, and the Reaper’s signature painted on the bottom half of the door in blood.

“The human body holds five quarts of blood,” Spencer began when Hotch joined the two of you and Rossi to look over the crime scene itself, “I’d say there’s a little more than half that here.”

“Foyet?” Rossi suggested, “It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job.”

“I don’t know…the Reaper would want to play with him, keep him alive and afraid, a sort of…vengeance for surviving the first time.  Punishment for subverting the Reaper’s power and control,” you pursed your lips in thought, hands tucked into the pockets of your FBI jacket as you looked over the scene, “He must have known he wouldn’t have much time to do that after announcing he knows where Foyet lives…and why wouldn’t he leave the body?  Shouldn’t he want us to know that there will be no survivors?”

“We offered him protection, he refused,” Hotch reminded the rest of you, reminding you that what could be done was already done, “It was his choice.”

“But why?  Why would he refuse protection?” you wondered aloud as you carefully stepped around the blood trail that had to be at least a foot wide, “Why would he refuse?”

Hotch was just as bothered by it.  He knew the profile inside and out, but there were still pieces that just…didn’t seem to fit quite right.  You all gathered around the table back at the field office to try and make _some_ sense of it.  The most obvious reason for the Reaper’s obsession on Foyet was that he survived, but Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that, “There’s something there that we’re missing.”

“What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand?” JJ suggested a new route nobody had looked down, “What do we know about her?”

“19, a freshman, she came from Michigan to go to school, “ Emily listed off, looking down at the file, “Foyet was a teacher’s assistant in one of Amanda’s courses.”

“Michigan…” Hotch connected the dots, “Where the Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

That caught everyone’s attention, even before JJ pointed out, “That can’t be a coincidence.”

Rossi clearly recalled the interview.  “He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose.”

“But she just _got_ here from Michigan,” Morgan contradicted Foyet’s story immediately, “They only met when the class started.”

You’d flipped through the file to skim through the information on Amanda before bringing up, “She’d only been in the class four weeks, there’s no way he was really proposing.  Sure, she was 19, but he was 28, he – oh god…”

“He was a 28-year-old teacher’s assistant in freshman classes,” Hotch put pieces of the profile together, connecting the hebephilia Rossi suggested to the rest of the oddities as he grabbed the receiver for the nearby phone and immediately called Garcia before putting her on speaker phone.

“That gives him plenty of access to young girls,” Rossi had connected the dots as well.  You’d _all_ been played.

“Garcia.”

 _“I’m here.”_   She kept close eyes on every investigation.  She already knew where things were going, though she didn’t know _exactly_ where the investigation had led the team she’d catch up quickly.

“I want you to look up in Boston city records,” Hoth requested before listing off Foyet’s alias’s, “Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker.  Try the Department of Education.”

_“Well played, sir.  So they all work for the Department of Education, they’re all substitute teachers, and they all teach Computer Science.”_

“High school?”

 _“Yeah….Oops…”_ Penny sounded like she just caught something that might just break the case, _“Scratch that.  They’re not all working for the Department of Education.”_

“They’re _not_?”

_“No.  William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”_

“That’s how Foyet survived.  After that many victims the Reaper would know how to kill someone, he wouldn’t just keep missing fatally wounding a victim after stabbing him that many times.”  You felt a chill as every hair stood on end, “But, Foyet wasn’t done yet.  He wouldn’t want to just _die_.  It was all a _rouse._ ”

“Colson went to see Foyet,” Hotch recalled, rushing him into overdrive, “Garcia, I need you to locate Roy Colson’s cell phone.  George Foyet is the Reaper.”

_“Oh god…uh…triangulating now…I got it!  2633 South Budlong!”_

 

********

 

You all surrounded Foyet, he kept his gun aimed at Colson who was sitting at a laptop set up on a dining room table, as Hotch talked Foyet down.  Telling him he didn’t want to miss on the fame he’d get, that it would be like Bundy all over again, but _dying_ would keep him from preventing. It.

“If you know me so well, how come somebody had to die to bring you here?” Foyet countered, more confidently than anything else.

You already had a hair trigger on your gun…you just wanted to pull it…you’d never felt that instinct on the job before.  Not _this_ job.  Not once had you looked at an unsub and wanted them _dead_ , just _knew_ they had to _die._

You couldn’t do that.  You weren’t that person.

“That’s your choice, not mine.  _You’re_ the serial killer.”  Hotch stood firm, the guilt he’d felt for declining Foyet’s proposed deal, for just leaving the case for ten years…Rossi was right.  That wasn’t _Hotch’s_ fault.  It wasn’t _Hotch_ that did the killing.  Everything the Reaper did was on Foyet.  Nobody forced that gun in his hands.  Nobody forced him to kill.

“That’s right.”  Foyet was quiet, and you were growing more and more on edge with every moment.  The killer looked back at Morgan and smirked, knowing he’d already set the agent on edge, “Hello Derek.”

_His forehead was right in your sights._

Foyet dropped the gun and Morgan jumped in and roughly took the Reaper into custody, “ _Where’s my badge?”_

Foyet didn’t answer, so Morgan grabbed him by the hair and asked again, “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

“I’m gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

_You had no idea._


	27. Jin Dan (May You Live 100 Years)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right. We’re going straight from ‘Omnivore’ to ‘Amplification.’
> 
> *Paints face green and grabs a broom* NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED!!!
> 
> …If you don't get that frankly you're missing out because Wicked is amazing.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Jin Dan (May You Live 100 Years)

 

Foyet escaped.

_The bastard fucking escaped._

You should have _executed_ him when you had the goddamn _chance_.

For the last few days you’d tried painting your way through it, but you’d just stared at the canvas for hours before just giving up.  Drinking wasn’t going to help in the long run either.

You’d asked around the bureau for a gym to go to before you started at the BAU, so as you walked into the old gym in a gutted factory you weren’t surprised you saw a bunch of familiar faces you didn’t know.  It was late, most of the gym’s business came from lunch hours or early mornings, but they stayed open late for the occasional agent that just…couldn’t’ sleep.

It wasn’t late enough for that, but you still changed in the locker room and made a beeline for one of the punching bags.

Morgan had been agitated since the Reaper, and now that he’d escaped there was no getting over that any time soon.  The gym was mostly abandoned, only a few agents here or there, but as he stepped out of the locker room his eyes were _immediately_ drawn to the small blonde just _wailing_ on a punching bag.

You’d tied the side of your loose black t-shirt to keep it from getting in the way, black capri leggings clinging to you as you kept your stance, brightly colored mis-matched socks peeking out of old black sneakers, wrapped fists hitting the punching bag with precise and sharp _smacks_ every time.  With your hair pulled back, it was easier to see the clench in your jaw and the blue fire in your eyes.

With everything that happened…Morgan considered just leaving you to it on your own.  He still hadn’t made his peace with the admission you’d made a few weeks ago, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, but…

If you were going to keep working together, he had to make an _attempt_ at least.

Your gaze shifted up to Morgan, catching him making his way over to the other side of the old red punching bag as you kept at it, his size and strength making it pretty easy for him to hold the punching bag still.  He felt the impact of your punches running up his arms.  You were trained and calculated about every hit, but you were just short of snapping and just throwing wild punches.

“Foyet got to you too.”  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.  Foyet had gotten to just about everyone in one way or another.  All of you were trying to find something to try and track him down, but there was only so much time between cases.

“I had instincts about the case.”  Three quick jabs.  “Spencer told me to follow my gut.”  Two stronger jabs.  “I told him off.”  Four quick alternating jabs.  “Told him I needed facts to back me up.”  Two more quick jabs.  “You almost got shot.”  One stronger punch.  “We found him when he wanted us to.”  Two stronger punches.  “And I didn’t take the fucking shot when I _should_ have and put an _end_ to it.”  Three stronger punches.  “And now he’s fucking _escaped._ ”

The way you repeatedly hit the bag afterwards, putting all your strength into it, was all fueled by anger.  There was no real training behind it, no calculating, just raw anger and a desperate attempt to try and work it out.  You realized you’d lost your cool, stepped back and took a few deep breaths before making your way to the water bottle you’d refilled at the fountain, popping the cap and taking a drink.

“You wanted to kill him?”  Morgan kept his question clinical, shoving his concern down _deep._

“He’d haunted Hotch for a decade, he almost killed you, and he had ten years to plan his comeback, and had a man he’d tricked into being a friend in his sights.”  You avoided eye-contact with the older profiler.  You knew he was profiling you.  You knew he’d been uncomfortable with your previous career, what you _might_ be capable of, you thought you might as well explain _why_ you’d wanted to pull that trigger so badly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m an FBI agent, not an MI6 spy.  That’s not how we do things.”  You took a deep breath as you realized some of your greatest fears were coming true.  You turned to lean back against the steel pilon your bottle had been sitting by, one of many pilons serving as columns as part of the original construction, and leaned back against it before sliding into a crouch.  Your shoulders hunched up as you stared at the matted floor below the punching bag.  “I left MI6 to get away from that.  I joined the FBI to be something better, but there’s still this… _part_ of me that won’t just _go away._ ”

And the closer someone got to hurting one of the few people you’d let close, close enough to celebrate your birthday at least, the closer that trained killer came to coming right back.  Extensive anatomical training came back when it was useful for an investigation that hit close to home for Prentiss.  You’d gone into a militant compound, alone, because they were holding Prentiss and Reid captive.  Now you actively had to hold back from executing a man because he’d haunted Hatch for a decade and the only reason he didn’t kill Morgan was because the agent was out cold.

“Look,” Morgan heaved a heavy sigh and hung his head, hands on his hips as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted to say.  “I have my… _problems_ with what you used to do, but you left to be better than that.  I respect that.  Problem is…you were trained to be like that so young, it’s gonna stick with you for a _while_.  Best thing you can do to control it now is figure out how to use it.”

You scoffed as you looked up at him and came back with, “That almost sounds like _want_ to accept what I did.”

“I…I’m gonna have my issues…” he admitted honestly, punching lightly at the punching bag, “But it was a job, you followed your orders, and…there had to be some good that came out of it.  I don’t think you would have done it otherwise.”

It was awkward, for the _both_ of you, but it was a start.

“Square up, let me see your form.”  You stood up, leaving your water bottle back on the ground and made your way back over to Morgan, “You have size and strength, but I’m not convinced you know how to use it.”

“You’re gonna teach me how to fight _properly_?”  The British accent he’d thrown onto the world ‘properly’ was utterly atrocious, and based on that crooked smile he was proud of it, but you’d decided to let it go.

“Even your tackles are sloppy.  You just throw yourself at them and assume you’ll knock them down.”  Morgan raised a brow at your comment as he realized you were being serious.  “You told me to figure out how to use _it_ , I figure this is as good a place to start as any.”

“Alright, pretty girl, I’ll go along with it for now.”

 

********

 

It wasn’t unusual to get calls before the sun was up, your phone buzzing from it’s spot under your pillow – like you ever slept deeply enough for it to fail in waking you up – and you saw the text from JJ.  You got up, showered, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and hastily tucked your white cotton button-up – it was a bit low-cut but it was clean – into a pair of black skinny jeans before securing a belt, your black buckled heels, and taking off for the office.

You met Spencer in the parking garage, and caught Morgan and Emily waiting for the elevator.  JJ didn’t tell any of you to bring a go-bag, so the case was local, but based on the fuss in the office it was _far_ larger than you’d thought, based on the fact the _army_ was there.  You’d seen something like this before, once, and the implications were…

 _Horrible_ was an understatement.

You and Spencer made a beeline for the meeting room as Morgan and Emily paused to look around in shock before following.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura,” JJ introduced the doctor placing pills into small cups, jumping right to business, “Chief of Special Pathogens with the CDC.”

Yeah, sounds like horrible wasn’t going to cut it.

“Hello, I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” Dr. Kimura kept things brief, straight black hair tied into a neat bun, dark eyes alert for a weekend morning.

“What circumstances?” Spencer questioned just as briefly.  The army just outside the meeting room was enough proof that things were urgent.  The mood kept any of you from being comfortable enough with sitting down, stopping at the coffee pot, even stopping to pick up the case files already laid out for you.

The head of the CDC Special Pathogens section, the army, cut that with prior experience and you get the solution.  “Bioterrorism.”

Wide eyes turned to you before turning to Hotch as he stepped into the room with Rossi.  You couldn’t be serious, right?  Just last year two of you had barely survived a bomb as you worked to prevent a terrorist attack in New York City.  That was something far more physical, that was something you could actively defend against if you were faced with it.  Biological warfare was…

“We need to get started,” Hotch cut right to the briefing, uncomfortable with the fact that you may just be right.  That you probably _were._

“Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis.  They were all at the same park after 2 pm yesterday,” JJ started, prompting Morgan to pick up a file as he went through the photographs of the victims.  “Within 10 hours the first victim died.  It’s now just past 7 am the next day, we have 12 dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Morgan read from the file, “Anthrax?”

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” Spencer countered as he looked through his own copy of the file, either this was something else or something worse.

“This strain does.”  Dr. Kimura confirmed Morgan’s suspicions, and it didn’t surprise you as much as you wished it did.  Some decent funding, experience in biochemistry – or even just _chemistry –_ and somebody with access or just knowledge of the original strain could alter it to be _worse._

“What are we doing about potential mass targets?” Emily questioned as the sheer implications of the situation set the tone of the office, “Airports, malls, trains?”

“There’s a media blackout.”  Hotch already knew there would be members of the team who didn’t like that.

“We’re not telling the public?”  Emily was one of those people.

“We can’t.  If they find out the mass exodus could cause far more damage than the last attack, maybe even more damage than an attack,” you explained, looking up from the file in your own hands, “Worse yet, getting control would be nearly impossible.  That kind of basic pack mentality can remain for days after the threat has already been neutralized, biological threats are particularly terrifying as they’re far less tangible than a bombing or shooting.”

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer agreed, shifting through the papers in the file to get right to the medical and coroner’s reports.

“ _Or_ if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again,” Emily argued.  She didn’t like this.  It was one thing to keep quiet about the kinds of cases you normally handled, but something like this was just too big, “Doesn’t the public have a right to know that?”

“If there is another attack, there’s no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet.  Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”  Hotch’s reassurance was stern, and aimed particularly at Emily, as most everyone fell in agreement that this needed to remain secret.

“What do we know about this strain?”  Spencer jumped right to the biochemical aspect of the attack, figuring it out might give something about the profile about the unsub.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs.”  Dr. Kimura’s explanation almost seemed more like a _warning_ than anything else, “Odorless and invisible.”

“A sophisticated strain, only a scientist would know how to do that,” Rossi brought up, at least narrowing the suspect pool to scientists in the greater D.C. area…

It wasn’t much, but it was a lot better than a few _million_ suspects.

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Morgan had been looking through the physically visible effects of the disease, keeping in mind to look through the time stamped on each of the photos.

“The lesions aren’t the fatal aspect, it’s the damage to the lungs.”  You were far from a scientist, but it didn’t take a scientist to figure out a flesh wound is far less dangerous than lung damage.

“We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside, and the reality is we may lose them all,” Dr. Kimura gently prepared the rest of you for the reality of the case.  At the moment, things were looking about as bad as they could, and there was a chance they could get worse.

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed hospital,” JJ finished up the briefing before Hotch shared a last few words and gave out orders, “Our offices will become a small command center.”

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick.”

“General _Whitworth_ is coming here?”  That seemed particularly concerning to Rossi, despite everything else.

“He’s in charge of site containment and spore analysis.  Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”  Hotch made sure to explain there was no way around it.  There was _definitely_ an issue with General Whitworth entering the BAU office.

“My team is in charge of treating all victims.”  It was a heavy burden, one that was already exhausting Dr. Kimura, but she was facing it head-on.

“Reid, [L/N], go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims.  Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene.  There’s Cipro,” Hotch nodded towards the small cups of pills on the table, “Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain,” Dr. Kimura cautioned you all to refrain from thinking you were immune, the last thing she wanted was for _another_ person to become a victim, “But, it’s something.”

“This is really happening?”  It hadn’t quite hit Emily yet.  This was larger than just about anything she’d dealt with before, even her career in the CIA was focused entirely on criminal syndicates and organizations, not… _this_.

“We knew this could happen,” Hotch reminded everyone that you were all prepared for it, that you could do this, and you _had_ to, “We’ve done our homework, we’ve prepared for this.  This is it.”

“ _Jin Dan_ ,” Rossi toasted with the small plastic cup in his hand, “May you live 100 years.”

All of you tossed back the pills and got to work.

If all went right, Rossi’s toast wouldn’t be for nothing.


	28. Biologically Induced Terror

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Biologically Induced Terror

 

If you had more time, you would have liked to stay and talk JJ through what she was dealing with.  Henry was just a baby, and Will had no idea.  Most of you either had family far enough out of the area that it was doubtful they would be targeted, had family _miles_ away in completely different state, or only had family _there_ in the BAU.  JJ…she didn’t have that luxury…

She must have been _sick_.

You couldn’t even imagine.

There weren’t a lot of victims you could question.  Whichever ones were still alive were either suffering from aphasia or the aphasia kicked in soon after you got there as the poison infected the parietal lobe and impaired their speech.  Not every patient had this symptom, but the ones that did died shortly after it appeared.  No drug combinations were working, the only thing that worked was the morphine.  It made them more comfortable, but it didn’t have any effect towards curing the victims.

As Morgan and Prentiss tried to figure out why the unsub targeted the _park_.  Terrorists can’t help but attach a personal motivation to their targets, so they needed to try and figure out what was so important about the park.

When there were already 16 out of 25 victims dead, and likely more to come.  Dr. Kimura was carrying the stress well, considering the _disastrous_ circumstances, but there was no missing the fact that this was already draining everyone.  Earlier, you’d stepped away to make a call after Rossi sent you a text to _double check with any contacts._   You were cradling your phone between your ear and shoulder as you rolled your sleeves up and pushed them up past your elbows, your hair already tied back into a neat braid that swung a little with every step you took as you paced.  You were bothered, but _everyone_ was bothered.

Spencer was laser focused on the file in front of him as he rolled up his own sleeves absentmindedly, stopping once he reached his elbow, and in the middle of rolling up his second sleeve when you hung up and made your way back.

“I put a few feelers out with MI6 but I’m not too hopeful,” you sighed heavily as you tucked your phone into your back pocket and huffed a little as you placed your hands on your hips, “As dangerous as anthrax is, there are other ways to hit a rabies-free nation, a lot of anti-bioterrorism efforts are focused elsewhere.”

“It can’t hurt, right?” Spencer offered, about to continue when both your attention was brought away by the rush of doctors dashing down the hall, Dr. Kimura one of them, and into a patient’s room.

_17 out of 25 dead._

The latest was a 38-year-old high school teacher leaving two kids behind.

“This strain is duplicating every 30 to 45 minutes.  It’s poisoning the lungs, causing massive hemorrhaging and organ failure.”  That was the newest information Dr. Kimura had managed to get through everything, and the worst part was it wouldn’t bring them any closer to a cure.  The three of you had made your way to a nearby nurses’ station, remaining there as the MD prepared to scribble an update into an open file.

“Extreme bacterial amplification…” Spencer’s brow furrowed as he thought aloud, “Whoever created this had to, at some point, go through the trouble of testing it.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Kimura asked, criminal investigations weren’t her forte and she would be the first to admit that.

“Think about how scientists work their way up to human testing.  They start with rodents, then advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they do a very small trial run with people,” Spencer walked Kimura through it, using an example she would know best, as you snatched your phone and replied to the last text Rossi had sent you.  A few moments later, you were getting a call from the conference phone in the round-table room and you answered the phone on speaker to include Spencer on the call.

“Hey,” you snapped your fingers, somehow catching Spencer’s attention, and waved him over to you.

 _“You have me, Rossi, and Hotch,”_ JJ clued you in on who was on the other end of the line.

“Kimura made a few calls and found out two people in Baltimore and another in Philadelphia fell into comas and died suddenly two days ago,” you started off, “The cause of death was listed as meningitis, but Spencer thinks they weren’t tested for anthrax, but Spencer thinks they were test runs for this strain of anthrax.”

 _“Did they show symptoms that were seeing now – the lesions?”_   Rossi knew you needed to make sure.  Working off false information was worse than having none at all.

“They wouldn’t have if the bodily functions expired as quickly as they did,” Spencer clarified, leaning in just a little and still catching wind of your perfume that triggered memories he immediately dashed aside. 

No, now was not the time, no.

_“How quickly?”_

“All dead within three hours of being admitted.”

“Airborne poisons scatter, it’s impossible to guarantee everyone will get the same amount and whoever gets the most gets the sickest.  It’s possible these first few victims were directly infected and that’s why they died so quickly.”  You knew _that_ much, chiming in to answer lingering questions you knew were going to come up.

You heard some shuffling as Hotch grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.

_“What are the names?”_

 

********

 

All three of the first victims visited the same bookstore on the same day.  A smaller area, walls and windows to keep the anthrax from dispersing as far as it could at the park and according to the hazmat team the anthrax was placed directly into the vents.  The store closed the day _immediately_ after the victims visited the store, explaining why only three people were hit.

The unsub had a connection to the store.

One of the teenage girls was still alive, fighting for her life, but she’d started bleeding into her lungs.  Now that 21 of 25 were dead, the next of kin were starting to have questions and there were already problems containing the story.

Garcia was running through everyone who had worked at the bookstore, but nobody had the scientific background necessary to make something like this.  She was digging through to find out if any former employees had connections to people with the necessary scientific background, but no matter how quickly she worked it was going to take some time.

Enough time for the members working primarily out of the office to give the profile to the room of alpha males and females packed into the BAU office.

“Because the locations are not symbolically significant, we believe that these attacks are personal,” Hotch began, being careful to give a _reason_ for the profile.  The office being packed with alpha males was bad enough, but General Whitworth hadn’t forgotten what happened during the Amerithrax investigation and – even though the BAU’s profile _ruled out_ Hatfill as a suspect – he wasn’t about to forget it.

Then again, nobody was.

“Understanding the significance will be the key to identifying him,” Prentiss continued.  She and Morgan were the only ones able to make it back.  You and Spencer had remained at the hospital, familiar with the profile yourselves, as you continued to work on trying to gather information.

“This personal element strongly indicates a home-grown terrorist.”

Morgan chimed in with something that could sway either way, considering the circumstances, “Like the Amerithrax case, we believe this is someone from the science or defense community.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Hotch looked around the room, careful to watch for reactions, “We think he may be one of us.”

“These home-grown terrorists are myopic zealots,” Emily raised her voice as people began to look at each other in concern, “Ideologues that believe that their work is of the greatest importance.”

“He may have preached about the threat of an attack on America.”  Rossi had no idea his words would trigger memories of a government researcher through the mind of a man in the crowd, and Morgan’s follow-up slammed it home as further details only made things clearer and clearer.

“His coworkers would describe him as histrionic, paranoid, secretive.”

“All due respect, that’s a little vague.”  They were surprised it took _this_ long before someone spoke up.

“What are we supposed to do with something that generic?” General Whitworth battled, his displeasure of the situation had never been secret and while he had low opinions of the BAU’s profilers he wasn’t about to accept anything less than the best.  Problem was, he didn’t know what _the best_ meant when it came to profiles.

“Sir, we’re not finished yet.”  Hotch remained respectful, to his credit, and continued, “He may have logged excess hours at work in the past weeks preparing for the attack.”

“We believe he’s taken the full dosage of anthrax vaccines,” Prentiss added in with odd behaviors that would have happened immediately, odd behaviors that would be _very_ noticeable, “Over the recommended 10-month schedule and had yearly boosters.”

“This guy has his own work space where he makes his product in privacy,” Morgan’s new addition narrowed down things even further, “He also has access to large, expensive, industrial-grade equipment at work.”

Rossi moved onto the unsub’s motive, something that would further narrow down the field.  “He’s written about the threats of anthrax attacks, published papers, yet he feels no one is listening.  And that angers him.”

“Now, he may have recently experienced some sort of professional humiliation, like being demoted or fired,” Morgan advised, focusing on _recent_ demotions of terminations, “Now, that would have been his trigger, the moment he decided to go rogue.”

“And he may have betrayed his loved ones to his cause.  He may be recently separated or divorced.” 

“This is somebody who knows _every_ detail of the 2001 anthrax attack and has talked about what that suspect did right or wrong.”  Emily’s point might narrow things down further than they thought.  Immediately after the attack, everyone was ready to try and prepare for another attempt, but as years passed memory of the event wasn’t nearly as bright and clear in everyone’s minds.

“He’s watching the news very closely to see how the country reacts,” Morgan was clear to add, everyone was hoping that would help deal with whatever issues there were keeping the incident from the public.  The crowd parted ways and the present team gathered after Hotch dismissed the briefing, “Please share this with your departments.  Thank you.”

It wasn’t unusual for someone to come forward after _thinking_ about the profile, muddling it about in their minds before they realized it fit someone they knew, but for someone to _immediately_ come forward…that was always a bit odd.

 

********

 

_Dr. Lawrence Nichols_

He used to work at the institute but ‘left’ in 2002 after a classified hearing with the Defense and Homeland Security subcommittee where he acted erratically.  He proposed that every household had gas masks and a two-month supply of cipro for _every_ resident, every major city to have hospitals with bio-safety decontamination capabilities, and a budget of $50 _billion_ dollars.  When he was told it was wildly unreasonable, he didn’t react well _at all_.

The committee found him to be unstable and fanatical, which was why he was moved from Fort Detrick and kept from any other prominent positions, and divorced his wife shortly after that.

Now, you just had to _find_ him.

Rossi and Prentiss were going to his office at Bio-Design Technology, a place that General Whitworth was determined to point out was a subcontract that didn’t deal with anthrax, while Morgan picked you and Reid up from the hospital to look at Dr. Nichols’ home.

The three of you waited outside the residence while hazmat checked inside.  Prentiss and Rossi were safe in the assumption that would be something the lab could easily protect against, even if they mainly dealt with the flu.

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Morgan mentioned something Garcia had found in looking up the doctor.

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer would rather check and be sure there was nothing than leave a stone unturned.  You and he had seen the results of this outbreak in person, almost ten people dying in a matter of hours.  This thing couldn’t be allowed to spread further.  The three of you turned to make your way inside, Spencer catching his on one of the nearby rose bushes.

“You alright?” you asked, overhearing his pained his.  There was no telling if this strain was contagious…it was highly unlikely but…

“Yeah, yeah, just a scratch.”

Dr. Nichols hadn’t been in the office since before the attack on the bookstore, and after his office was tested for anthrax, Prentiss called your cell.  The sound of _More Than A Feeling_ by Boston caught Morgan off guard, making him pause and watch as you answered the phone, still shooting you a look after Spencer – having long since grown used to your ringtone – continued through the garden and into the house.

“Hey Em.”

_“Are you at Nichols’ house?”_

“Yeah, we’re right outside.”

The sprinkler system popped on, bringing your attention away for a moment.

A moment too long.

“What?”

_“The lab is clean.  Don’t go inside.”_

“Maybe he has a lab somewhere else…alright we’ll sit tight.”  You huffed a sigh and turned to face Morgan, immediately spotting he was the _only one there._

“Where’s Spencer?”

“He went on inside.”

“God no.”  You immediately paled, pushing past Morgan to sprint to the back door, putting your hands out in front of you to keep from slamming into it as Spencer had just slammed it shut.  You looked up at him through the window of the door.

“Get back, get back!” he snapped, clicking the locks on the door like that would stop you, “ _Believe me_ , get back.”

“You open this door or I will!”

“Morgan!  Get her away from the door!”

Morgan pulled you back, but both of you just looked at the profiler locked inside with eyes full of _nothing_ but terror as you watched him in what could very well be some of his final moments.

“I’m sorry…”


	29. Stolen Breath

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Stolen Breath

 

Of all the things to happen.

Of all the _fucking_ things.

It had to be something you couldn’t protect _anyone_ from.

You just barely remembered to breath as you watched a CDC hazmat team set up around the back door and suit up before going inside.  Hotch and General Whitworth were there, along with an ambulance on standby.  Nichols was dead, blunt force trauma to the head, Spencer said he’d been dead about two or three days.  The only hope was the Cipro would do…something, but it didn’t help the other victims.

You were all within view of a window, and Spencer immediately dug his phone out of his pocket and called Hotch’s phone.

_“Hotch, I really messed up this time.”_

You couldn’t help yourself, especially since Hotch had immediately put the call on speaker.

“Oh, you noticed that, did you Sherlock?”

“Reid, we need to get you _out_ and to the hospital,” Hotch urged, just as worried as the rest of you but far more capable of keeping himself composed than you and Morgan…mostly you.  You were getting snappish.

_“No.  I’m staying right here.”_

“No, you’re not, Reid.”  Morgan was reaching the end of his rope too.  You’d only been waiting about ten minutes until everyone got there.

 _“I’m already exposed.  It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”_   He stepped away from the window to keep looking around.  There had to be some kind of clue, some kind of hint.  Something.

“He’s already infected,” General Whitworth agreed, “Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”

“There’s _nothing_ in the profile that even _hints_ towards that.”  They couldn’t agree to this.  This was insane.

_“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols.”_

You held your breath.

“Come on Hotch,” Morgan pleaded, “Say something to him.”

Hotch was silent.  He didn’t like it but…

“He’s right, his best chance is inside,” Hotch worked quickly, “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

 _“Don’t bother.  It’s not gonna do me any good.  I’m already infected._ ”  He’d already been speedily examining the room, pulling in every piece of information before the pain kicked in and started effecting his ability to think.

“Can we go _one_ sentence without mentioning that?”  You brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen loose from your braid.  This was actually happening.  This was actually fucking happening.

“Reid, what do you see in there?” Hotch asked, trying to get some idea.  Maybe one of you could help…somehow…

 _“I see cages filled with dead animals.  I see signs of a struggle, probably before Dr. Nichols was murdered.  Equipment’s missing, there’s a large desk.”_   You could just picture him quickly turning around one way then another as he once again looked around the lab, flipping through pages and notes he found, “ _Clutter all over the surface, but in the corner, there’s a smaller desk.  It’s organized, functional.”_

“Two different work spaces?” Morgan questioned.

“Makes sense, one for Dr. Nichols and one for the unsub, it would explain the different levels of organization.”  You stopped biting on your lip to speak, keeping your focus on the case.  If this was Spencer’s best chance at survival, then that’s what you’d do.

 _“Two different sets of handwriting,”_ Spencer confirmed as he went through the second desk, _“I’m looking at instructions on how to boil lab-grade broth, sterilize lab equipment, and transfer spores.”_

“Nichols would know all that.”  General Whitworth had overheard as he continued to give orders to his men, stepping in when he was finished.  He was more willing to listen and work with you, not only because your profile turned out to be right but because one of your own men was in danger.

 _“He has a partner, maybe even a protégé – “_ Spencer cut himself off mid-sentence, working as fast as he possibly could, not even thinking that he was talking to _Hotch_ when he gave a quick order, _“Go back to the BAU, try to figure out who this partner is.”_

“Hotch, why don’t you go?  We’ll stay with Reid,” Morgan offered, mostly because _neither_ of you were going to be leaving any time soon.  The team had all the manpower they needed at the moment, and unless somebody needed to be _physically_ taken down, they didn’t _specifically_ need either you or Morgan.

“Funnel all the information you get to me,” Hotch left with that final order, hanging up his phone and dropping it into his suit pocket before rushing back to the car with the General.  Time was becoming more and more of the essence with every second.

 

********

 

Prentiss tried to talk Rossi into telling the supervisor that it was all about anthrax, but he wouldn’t budge.  It was hard enough before, but now Reid was in trouble and it could lead to finding a cure faster.  There was no guarantee but…

Back at the office, JJ was reaching the end of her rope.  She knew protocol.  She knew how much trouble she could get if she was caught.  But Will and Henry…it was bad enough before, but knowing Reid was in danger at that very moment just made it all worse.  She called home, but it went right to voicemail, and while she just _barely_ managed to keep from saying anything, she was just that much more worried.

Hotch and Rossi were just staring ahead, keeping their eyes on the case and burying themselves in it, constantly reminding themselves solving the case was the best way to help Reid.

You and Morgan were waiting just outside, Morgan with his arms crossed and gaze focused firmly on the ground while you kept your hands on your hips and paced back and forth.

When Reid called Garcia, even she couldn’t seem to bring any cheer to the situation.

 _“Hey Reid.”_   She answered mournfully, scared these would be the last words he’d say to her.

“’Reid,’ wow, no, uh…” It was so strange to hear Garcia greet him like that, it threw him off, “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

She smiled a little at the response, but that didn’t change her mood.  _“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”_

Spencer knew all about that.  That was why he was calling the technical analyst in the first place.  He couldn’t call his mom without alerting everyone at her hospital, but he also knew he was just about the only person she had left in the world.  He had to say…something.  He had to leave one last message for her, just in case.  He hoped it could be tossed away, hoped there would be no need, but…

He had to _make sure._

You…you were right outside that door…right outside that window…last he saw you were pacing back and forth as you untied your hair from its braid.  Pacing _and_ playing with your hair…he’d never seen you that panicked before.  Maybe he should leave another message…for you.  To say he’s sorry.  Not to tell you he still has that scrap of paper with your name and number scribbled on it…for some reason.  He just never got around to tossing it.  Not to tell you…

He couldn’t drop a bomb like that on you.  Not as last words.

He looked up when he heard the click of the door, quickly hanging up and tucking his phone back into his pocket.

No.  He couldn’t leave a message for you, no matter how much he wanted to.  You were clever, you’d obsess about why he left a message for _you_ until you figured it out.  Either way…

Losing a friend would hurt you enough.  His eagerness to finish the case, eagerness that _blinded_ him, was already hurting you.  _His mistake_ already hurt you.

He couldn’t make that worse, even if that meant taking it to his _grave._

He just had to make sure _that didn’t happen._

No narcotics.  No more distractions.

Profile, find the cure, get the hell out of there.

 

********

 

You were combing both hands through your hair as you paced back and forth.

“What…what were they able to do for the others?”  Morgan hated asking but…he had to know…

“Nothing worked.  All they could do was give them morphine to make them comfortable, but Spencer isn’t about to take any pain medication.”  You kept pacing, Morgan hadn’t looked up from the ground either, and you took a shaky breath, “He’d rather die than risk…”

The two of you shared a look before going right back to how you were.  Spencer didn’t say anything, and you’d joined after he’d gone the better part of a year, but you knew the signs.  He’d used for less than a year, but you’d recognized the signs of his cravings while you were going through files and reports of some of the team’s older cases, and stumbled upon the _Tobias Hankle_ case around the same time.  Nobody _said_ anything, you weren’t going to say anything unless it became a danger to himself or others, and it was clear from how he was handling his cravings he hadn’t touched drugs in a while.  You just…

You’d taken a liking to him, would have even without how you met, you wanted to help.

And now the idiot got himself in this fucking situation and you couldn’t…there was nothing you could…

The two of you were getting impatient, you stopped pacing and watched as Morgan pulled out his phone and called Spencer.

 _“Hello?”_   The stress, the growing exhaustion, crack in his voice as he furiously tried to keep working through it all…

_Dammit._

“How’s it going in there, kid?” Morgan asked, trying to stay positive and failing to his deep concern.

_“I’ve seen better days.”_

“Well, you got me, Garcia, and [L/N].”

 _“Hey Reid,”_ Garcia softly greeted, and there was a brief silence as Morgan looked at you.  You’d taken to pouting angrily.

“Fine.  _Hi_.”  You furiously started braiding your hair, “Just because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean I’m not angry at you, you stupid stupid man.”

Reid’s chuckle was interrupted by coughs he’d been struggling to hold back.

“Reid, stick with me,” Morgan coaxed as he relayed the latest information, “Listen, Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.  Can you tell us anything else about him?”

_“I…I’ve already been through everything.”_

“The second desk is smaller and in the corner, someone who saw himself as an equal to Dr. Nichols wouldn’t accept that,” you thought aloud, hoping to coax _something_ out of Spencer because you had _no_ idea where you were going from there.

_“Right.  I see a – uh – a framed photograph of Dr. Nichols teaching.  I see a…I see a binder with syllabi, course assignments going all the way back to the 1970s.”_

“Alright, so he kept a scrapbook of himself as a professor,” Morgan concluded, watching the way pieces clicked in your mind.

“It’s more than that, he _idolizes_ his life as a professor, as a teacher, and the unsub saw Dr. Nichols as a teacher as well, it’s the only kind of person Nichols would have kept in his life.  Even his family left him, but a _student_ that values his word would be someone he could never just isolate.” you put some of the pieces together outside as Spencer scrambled his way through Dr. Nichols’ desk inside.

_“I saw something earlier but I didn’t – I didn’t make a connection to it, but he has a study on anthrax.  He has an annotated bibliography, table of contents, it’s formatted like a thesis, and has writing in the margins in red ink, like the way a teacher grades a paper.”_

“So the partner must have appealed to him as a student.”  Morgan looked up from his phone to you, feeling very caught in the middle of you and Reid.

“Penny, look up local PhD students, but don’t just focus on sciences and cross-reference with employees at the bookstore.  Look at social studies as well.  The entire profile is about preparing the country to respond to an emergency,” you advised, hands still tangled in your own hair as you stayed still long enough to continue the conversation.

 _“That’s why he had instructions on basic lab functions written down.  He’d know that, but his student wouldn’t,”_ Reid agreed, immediately recalling the list of instructions on things he’d quickly learned during his years in college.

 _“Hot to trot!  There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M.  Matches a Chad Brown, former employee of the Book Front.”_   Garcia’s pep had boiled into raw determination.

“That’s gotta be him.”  Morgan was certain, you _all_ were.

_“Tell me about it.  He’s been in the doctoral program on and off for five years, nix on a steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his former girlfriend, and has been arrested and released twice at protest rallies in D.C.  I’ll tell Hotch.”_

Garcia hung up with that, in too much of a rush to do what she could do to make things right.

“Kid, you did real good, now get the hell out of there.”  That wasn’t a request.  Both you and Morgan needed him to get out of there.

You were just starting to be able to breath again as the call ended.

It wasn’t a guaranteed cure, but it was… _something._

 

********

 

Brown applied to work at Fort Detrick multiple times, but failed the psych eval because he firmly believed it was acceptable to sacrifice the lives of the few for the lives of the many.  His advisor even said Brown’s thesis was going to be about how easy it was to make homemade anthrax and interview Dr. Nichols to prove it.  The rest of the team was working on tracking down Brown, but called to give you and Morgan an update to share with Spencer, giving you the chance to relay the chance of a cure.

The CDC team was bagging the cure to be tested, and potentially multiplied, as they hosed Spencer down in a decontamination shower on the other side of a clear plastic tent wall.

He looked like a drowned rat.

“Go help Hotch.”  Spencer was shaking, and you couldn’t tell if that was because the water was cold or a side-effect of his system trying to fight off the anthrax.

“He’s got more than enough people on this, you saw everyone in the bullpen, he’ll be fine.”  You were putting your foot down.  You were absolutely _not_ leaving.  That was not happening.  Until Hotch needed someone _assassinated_ , he did not need you there as he was perfectly capable of just picking up a phone and calling you to ask you a question covered under your experience and expertise.

“He needs you more than I do,” Reid insisted.

“Reid, we’re gonna see you off to the hospital.”  Morgan wanted to read just as much as you did.

“I’m about to get naked, so they can scrub me down.”  Spencer just brought up something you hadn’t considered, and Morgan’s unfamiliarity with decontamination procedures had kept him from knowing that until he was told.  “Is that something you really want to see?”

As you and Morgan shared a look, Morgan leaving before you, Spencer thought you were going to leave with one last huff.  You tended to do that when you lost an argument, at least one that wasn’t all that important.  The way your lips turned into a little pout, not really mad but not _pleased_ either, and your arms crossed with your hair draped over your shoulder in a half-finished braid…

There was no guarantee the inhaler held the cure.  It would make sense, the main cause of death was the damage to the lungs and if the anthrax was contracted by breathing it in, the easiest way for a small lab to counteract it would be with respiral chemical.

So…just in case…he gave you an awkward little smile, one that normally made you smile back out of endearment, and he decided this would do.  He’d burn this moment into his mind for…however long he had left…he’d enjoyed it while it lasted…

It would do…

“I’ll be waiting by the ambulance.”  There was no room for argument in your tone.  You’d even turned to leave the tent in order to wait by the ambulance, but froze when you heard Dr. Kimura’s voice filtered through the helmet of her hazmat suit.

“Dr. Reid, did you cut yourself?”

You froze.

You weren’t a chemist but…you had an understanding of anatomy.  If this strain of anthrax caused so much damage when it was just inhaled…if it was introduced directly to the bloodstream…

_Oh god…_

The aphasia kicked in on the way to the hospital, and by the time you’d finally arrived at the hospital he was in respiratory distress.

You paced back in forth in a private waiting room, the only one in the ward reserved for Dr. Kimura’s team and the victims of this case.

Spencer wasn’t the only one who couldn’t breathe.


	30. Sunny Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suuuppeerr short chapter in comparison, but it didn’t work well as an opener or closer, but I wanted it in here. So…super short chapter.
> 
> Also, over 80,000 words now.
> 
> Yaay!!

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Sunny Rain

 

You’d been at the hospital all night.  Morgan had forced you into going home, saying you took the ‘night shift’ and dealt with the worst of it, so it was only fair he take over from there.  He just…

He didn’t think you’d leave at eight and be back just after noon.

You stood in the doorway, staring him down and daring him to chase you out, and he just broke out into a chuckle and shook his head before asking, “You got any magazines with you?  All they’ve got is _Cosmo_ and _Better Homes & Gardens.”_

“No,” you smiled as you made your way to the free seat by Spencer’s bed and pulled out a book you’d almost read as much as your copies of _Sherlock Holmes_ , “But I do have _Arsene Lupin_ in the original French.”

“Alright, smartass.  I’m gonna go get myself some Jell-O and learn all about…” Morgan picked up one of the magazines, you didn’t see which one, but you could make a guess based on what he followed-up with, “My biggest turn-ons and turn-offs based on my astrological sign.”

“You sure, you don’t want to read about,” you laughed as you picked up the _Better Homes & Gardens_, “Shortcuts for organizing kids’ closets?”

Morgan was about to step out when you called after him briefly.

“Grab two and an extra spoon!”

Morgan just shot you a look before he left.  He was only gone for a few minutes, chasing down that Jell-O, before coming back and flipping his way through a sports magazine he’d found…somewhere.  For all you knew he snatched it from someone else, but you just weren’t going to ask.  You were in the middle of reading a clash between the gentleman thief and _Josephine Balsamo_.

Spencer took a deep breath as he woke up, the feeling both foreign and borderline euphoric after fighting through respiratory distress for what felt like _hours_ before the cure was tested, recreated, and finally administered.  Then there was the oxygen tube supplying pure oxygen everything he took a breath through his nose, sending him into the daze of an oxygen high.  His muscles ached, but he didn’t feel anything resembling the aftereffects of narcotics, a blessing despite the pain he was in.  He slowly opened his eyes to the bright room, the window behind him illuminating the room with mid-day sunshine.

 _There you were_.

You must have gone home and changed.  You looked like you hadn’t slept much, but you seemed at peace.  In your element.  You’d changed into your favorite gray cotton dress, the soft material softly hugging your waist and bust comfortably as the short skirt and sleeves flowed loosely, and you’d matched it with your regular brightly colored socks – it looked like orange and pink based on what he could see – just barely peeking out from a pair of old black low-tops, and a blue cable knit sweater that was far too big for you and looked familiar…but Spencer couldn’t place it in his daze.  You looked…like…like a sunny rain in spring, hair tied back into a high ponytail and lips slightly parted as you read.

_Arsene Lupin_

He couldn’t see the title of the book, but he’d bet his life on it.  You’d just finished rereading all of your _Sherlock Holmes_ favorites, and your habit was to go through _Arsene Lupin_ before moving onto other books.

Morgan looked a bit better rested, leaning forward to read the magazine he’d placed on the hospital bed, far less stressed than the day before.

“You’re eating Jell-O?”  Between the coughing, brief intubation that kept him breathing, and hours unconscious or asleep, Spencer’s voice was croaky and he was just a bit too tired to bother with sitting up any farther than the head of the bed was already raised.

“Hey,” you smiled when you saw him, immediately looking up when you heard him talk as Morgan just nodded with an amused hum.

“Hey kid,” Morgan greeted with a smile before turning to call out, “Hey doc!  Look who’s back!”

“Is there any more Jell-O?”

You grabbed the cup and plastic spoon you’d told Morgan to grab, he’d just gotten it and handed it to you and assumed you were saving it when you didn’t immediately eat it.  He wasn’t _wrong_ , he was just wrong in assuming _who_ you were saving it for.”

“Hey,” the doctor stepped into the room with a smile, “Welcome back.”

“What happened?”  Last he knew…

Last he knew he was on death’s doorstep…

“You’re going to be alright,” you closed your book and scooted forward in your seat as Morgan stood up, “And the team got Brown.”

“It’s over,” Morgan confirmed, just happy to see the genius awake and okay.  After everything…losing him would be like losing a brother.

“How’s Abby?” Spencer recalled the teenage girl who had been inflicted as well, she’d been fighting but only had a matter of time.

“She’s on the mend, so are the three others,” Dr. Kimura reassured, especially since she’d been keeping close eyes on all five of the patients still in the wing, “You were right about where to look for his cure.”

Spencer had to ask.  He had to know why this all happened, “Why was Dr. Nichols making anthrax in the first place?”

“He was a brain scientist – “

“Neuroscientist.”  You corrected, and looked up at Morgan with a cheeky smile because you _knew_ he was going to be giving you an unamused look, but the tired attempt at a grin on Spencer’s face was worth it.

“He was a _neuroscientist_ downgraded to working on the flu.  Brown comes along asking for help on his thesis…”

“Would have been more than happy to share his knowledge.”  Spencer knew that feeling.

“We don’t even know if Nichols knew what Brown was planning,” you lamented the fact that Nichols likely died because he just wanted to teach again.

“His strain and its cure are getting locked up in containment at Fort Detrick,” Dr. Kimura promised.

“Hm, really…” Morgan couldn’t help but wonder, after everything everyone had been through in just a matter of hours, “What else do they have locked up in there?”

“I feel like that’s a question I don’t want the answer to.”  You looked down long enough to slip your bookmark into place, so your book wasn’t closed on your finger anymore, and looked up to say casual farewells as Dr. Kimura left to check on the other patients.  Morgan left to call Garcia, who would then call everyone else, and tell them that Spencer was awake and fine.  Reception could be touch and go in the hospital, while you and Spencer had found certain spots with reception it was easier to just step outside.

“Hotch managed to get us all a few days off, so when you get out of here you’ll be able to rest up.”  You couldn’t help but smile as you handed Spencer his Jell-O cup and spoon, Dr. Kimura had promised it was alright for him to eat before she left, and considering you’d been _famished_ when you finally stopped running around or pacing out of anxiety you couldn’t imagine how Spencer felt.

“Great, we could all use a break after this,” Spencer was almost childlike as he took the Jell-O off your hands and you couldn’t help but giggle a little, “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it, Morgan said he was going to get Jell-O and I knew you’d want some.”  Your smile turned softer, book clutched in both hands in your lap.  “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah…me too.”

The sunshine seemed to target you…or maybe that was all in Spencer’s already dazed mind, he wasn’t sure.  He just grinned and shut his eyes as he took in the petrichor scent that always clung to your skin, that same scent that always seemed to calm him down and make him smile ever since he was a kid, as you kissed the top of his head before leaving to get something to drink.

That blue sweater you were wearing, he wondered if you remembered it was his or just saw it and put it on.  He wasn’t going to _say_ anything, he just wondered.  If you liked it, and you seemed to, you could keep it.

As much as he loved you, and he _did_ he knew that now, he couldn’t tell you because the both of you had been right from the start.

You work together, closely together, and it was just…too much of a risk in so many ways for so many reasons…

He could lose you, lose the closeness you shared, and he couldn’t do that.


	31. Violent Contagion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the socks thing. I have a few black socks I had to get for a work uniform, but besides that ALL my socks are either brightly colored fuzzy socks, brightly colored ankle-socks with different patterns on them, ankle socks with Marvel characters on them, or my Jack Skellington knee-high socks. Those last ones are LITERALLY the only ones I bother matching. My mom only got me plain white crew-cut socks when I was a kid, they never fit right, and I HATED them. So, when I was old enough to choose it was straight to ankle-socks and bright colors.
> 
> Life is just too fucking short to worry about whether or not your socks match, and you gotta at least try to have fun with the little things – like matching a gray and orange striped sock with a purple sock decorated with musical notes.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Violent Contagion

 

First the case that spanned from Detroit to _Canada,_ then Hotch was attacked by the Reaper – in his home – and now Haley and Jack needed to be put under witness protection for their own safety, and to top everything off…

“Are you _trying_ to give me an ulcer?” you snapped as you entered the hospital room where Spencer was being treated, the doctor turning to you with wide eyes as you stormed towards his bed, “Like the _last time_ you were in the hospital wasn’t _enough_ of a scare, right while I’m in the middle of tracking down Haley and Jack I get a call that you’ve been fucking _shot?_ ”

You couldn’t say _why_ Spencer was in the hospital the last time, the doctor was still _right there_ , but you knew the genius would be able to figure out what you were talking about.

“Sorry…it just sort of happened – “

“Yeah.  I fucking bet it did.”

You’d felt your heart stop when you heard Spencer was shot.  You’d been so focused on getting Haley and Jack to safety that you hadn’t the _faintest_ clue what was going on with the current case.  You huffed and let your shoulders slump before taking a seat on the side of the hospital bed.  You were so scared he’d actually been…that you’d be walking down the hall to find him…

You just sat and pouted until the doctor left the room, the closing door the trigger that let you lean over and place your head on Spencer’s shoulder, even though you were facing away from him.

“Don’t worry me like that, alright?”

He couldn’t make that promise.  Not with the job.

But he went and did it anyway.

“I won’t, I promise.”

 

********

 

It was a local case, the murder of two wealthy couples as part of a home invasion in southeast D.C.  The same neighborhood where there’s been a massive increase in vandalism, and then there was the fact the neighborhood was mostly black working class but it was being gentrified – making it even harder for them to afford just the necessities, but as one couple was white and the other was black a racial aspect to the motive was doubtful.

Ever since your… _invasion_ of that compound a year earlier, you’d been asked to stop in for a sort of ‘guest lecture’ for every incoming class of trainees.  It wasn’t so much a lecture as it was you snapping orders and terrifying the trainees as they realized – as much as they thought the full-time instructors were old hardasses – it could be _much_ worse.  Last time one of the students, a cocky 21-year-old, scoffed that you were snapping orders because ‘ _those who cannot do, teach.’_   You ordered him onto the sparring mat, slammed him onto the ground, and told him he would have been able to avoid getting his ass kicked by a 5’3” blonde Brit if he’d just _‘flipped into the throw.’_

You kept up with it, though.  That was partially because you weren’t exactly worried about teaching the young, strong, fit men that came through the academy.  It was the young women, the smaller guys, anyone who ran the risk of their holstered gun wearing them more than the other way around.  It was more of proving a point.  Just because you weren’t the _cliché_ G-Man didn’t mean you couldn’t be just as dangerous as a buff man over six feet that works out every day.

One of the girls in a class you’d guest lectured the year before ended up in Organized Crime – a _notorious_ boys’ club – and caught you in the hall to thank you, before returning to her coworkers and arguing her point with her head held high and her tone strong.

You’d been in the middle of finishing up a lecture when JJ called, telling the class that _‘duty called_ ’ and taking off.  You took enough time to freshen up before making your way to the car, the fact you’d be at a crime scene in white _Adidas_ , mismatched socks quite noticeable despite the fact they just barely peeked out from under your shoes, dark skinny jeans, and a white t-shirt with the front _lazily_ tucked in would be bad enough you figured you’d at least grab the black blazer you kept with your go-bag tucked under your desk before meeting Rossi and Spencer at the car.

Still, unsubs don’t go from vandalism to four murders overnight.  Bets were there were a _lot_ more bodies out there.

Detective Andrews briefed the team on what he’d found when you all arrived.  It looked like one of the victims was attacked getting out of his car, and the unsub used his keys to get into the house.  That would explain why the lock wasn’t picked and the door wasn’t kicked in.  Rossi took Prentiss and Morgan inside to take a look while you, Hotch, and Reid stayed outside to see what else was there.

Four victims inside, beaten beyond recognition, and the pools of blood outside…

There was more than one unsub.  _Easily._

They weren’t kids, it was too controlled and efficient for that, and there were at least three – maybe four – and worse yet, Morgan was right.  Vandalism did escalate to violence, but not like this.

You’d all gathered in the round table room to discuss what you’d found after JJ went over the recent vandalism in the area, starting off with broken car windows to restaurant windows, and then to a newly renovated townhouse _before_ the new owners moved in.  As Hotch, Morgan, Garcia, and Rossi took seats at the table, Spencer opted for the couch armrest as it was just _easier_ with his leg and crutches, while you and Prentiss grabbed some coffee from the small pot kept in the room for those long nights you’d spent deciphering the most baffling cases.  You absentmindedly stirred the creamer in your coffee with the little plastic straw as JJ went through the vandalism from September into October as Emily leaned back against the counter and placed her cup of coffee onto it after taking a few drinks.

“So, they went from attacking public property to a private residence, but no victims,” Emily started with the most striking oddity, besides the fact that it was looking like someone could have escalated from comparatively _normal_ vandalism to a crime scene that shook the D.C. police to the point they didn’t even waste time calling for help after the first crime scene.

“The question is, what makes them move from that…” Hotch took the remote after JJ offered it to him and brought up the next image on the TV, “to this?”

You were all familiar with the crime scene, you’d all been there, but the image was still…striking.

“The vandalism targets were all symbolic of the neighborhood’s changing makeup and economy, maybe there’s something specific about these victims that set the unsubs off,” Morgan proposed a potential victimology.

“I’ve spoken to the victims’ family members,” JJ brought up as discussions regarding victimology came about, “They’ve agreed to come in and help out however they can.”

“Garcia, check social networking sites.  See if these unsubs have coordinated these attacks online,” Hotch started giving out orders where he could, the earlier any one of you could start digging the better.

Penny nodded, determined to find whoever did this.  All of you saw some ugly things on a daily basis, but this kind of brutality was on a completely different level.  “If they dare tweet, I shall flush them out like a bird dig, sir.”

“We need to be asking how these unsubs managed to not stand out in this neighborhood,” Rossi brought the question to the table, as whoever did this would most likely stand out with the reformation of the neighborhood.

“Each of these crime scene locations are a representation of new wealth and status,” Spencer started off as he got up and made his way over to the maps pinned to the bulletin board, “But the area surrounding the crime scenes are still populated by long-time residents who are slowly being pushed out.”

“That’s a lot of disenfranchised people who are all part of the neighborhood makeup.  Most likely these unsubs don’t stand out because they’re probably local themselves.”  Morgan was right, that was the most likely scenario.  Even though the neighborhood was changing, the locals were all feeling like they were being chased out of their homes and nobody’s anger would seem all that unusual.

“I dunno, I’m with Rossi,” Emily wasn’t quite convinced, “I mean, anger I get, but this much violence?  We’re looking at at least three men with an incredible amount of rage.  Where do you hide that?”

“Hotch, can you flip back to the vandalism photos?” you requested as you placed your coffee onto the table, heading over to the TV on the wall as the lead profiler brought up the photos in question, “Most of these are traditional vandalism, get in and out, but this last case is wildly different.  It required planning, breaking in, instead of just breaking a window they trashed the _entire house_ , and you wouldn’t even know about it until you stepped inside.  It doesn’t fit the M.O. of the rest.”

“What are you thinking?” Hotch asked, you brought up a good point.  Looking at them systematically it wasn’t all the same.

“I’m not sure…it just doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the vandalism.  You’d expect them to tag one of the houses or break the windows, no real planning involved.  The last act…they’d have to break in, trash the place, and get out.  It’s not even a public site, no message to be sent.”  You weren’t about to ignore a gut feeling.  Not after what happened the last time you did that.

“You think the murders are only connected to the last vandalism?” Rossi questioned, following your line of thought.  Problem was, _nobody’s_ theories were going to be finding any traction at the moment.

“I think it’s worth considering, at least,” you shrugged, admitting you might not be right, “If they did, I think something might have happened to make them change their M.O.”

A silence fell over the room as everyone was forced to face an uncomfortable fact about this case.

You had four bodies, the knowledge there were at least three unsubs, vandalism, and _nothing else._

 

********

 

No witnesses.  No security camera footage.  Just a trashed car, some beer cans, and two victims in the middle of a parking lot behind a diner.  The girl worked at the diner, the guy was her boyfriend, but that was based on the ID found on the bodies.  There was no way to make an ID by just looking at them.

The excessive amount of brute violence matched the last murder.  The chances of this happening twice by two different groups of violent unsubs were just short of _astronomically_ low.

“They’re definitely getting bolder, these kills were in public,” Spencer observed as you, Hotch, and Morgan looked through the crime scene while JJ spoke to the manager who had found them on her way to open up the diner.

“It’s not just that, whatever symbolic reasons there were for this crime are gone, this is purely rage,” you added as you looked around the parking lot, “They picked the easiest targets they could and beat the hell out of them.”

“If this is supposed to be about symbolism, it’s not anymore.  This is a blue collar restaurant, one of the victims is a waitress,” Morgan looked around the area, taking in the local neighborhood as he listed off facts that agreed with the observations you and Spencer had made, just proving the point that this was far worse than it already looked at the beginning.

“There’s no ideology behind this, it’s about violence and power,” Hotch was in agreement as well, having recovered the head of one of the victims and standing up after confirming both victims were just as heavily beaten as the last four.

“They actually sat here and drank beer after the murders…” Detective Andrews was taking this personally, losing objectivity quickly as he began to curse the unsubs and believe they were nothing more than monsters to be eliminated.  This wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with, it happened on some level with every case, but this time it was…

 _Concerning_.

“They’re telling us that they don’t care.”  Morgan tried to explain, to give facts to the detective, something he could use to work on and focus on.

“They’re like those outlaws that ride into town and let you know that the only way to stop them is by killing them.”  Spencer was recalling, specifically, the outlaws in stories about cowboys and the old west.

“If that’s what they want, I know plenty of cops who’d be happy to oblige.”

Well… _shit_.


	32. Remaining Objective

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Remaining Objective

 

The unsubs felt like there was nothing left to live for, like it was taken from them, and their anger was being fed further by the anger taking over the locals.  They sought after confrontation, to the point they looked for ways to _provoke_ it.  They don’t steal, they don’t sexually assault the women, so the only purpose was the violence, which they thought of as power and respect, they felt no empathy.  It’s a twisted kind of sickness, contagious, and it only gets worse.  They’re obviously connected to southeast D.C., they knew enough to wear gloves, and there was no time for DNA testing.  The only physical features you could discern were they were males and they were either large or physically fit.  They were always together, a result of a pack mentality, and they were obsessed with the media coverage and wanted to relive their crimes.  They likely had troubled childhoods, whatever kind, and bonded over that to the point their ‘pack’ became their entire identity.

You and Spencer were throwing theories around, trying to come up with something, when you got an unexpected text from Penny.

_Can we talk?_

Before you could even respond, Penny sent another series of texts.

_I’m panicking_

_And I need some advice_

_And idk who else to ask_

_Help_

_Pls_

“I gotta go, it looks like Penny’s having a crisis.”  You had _no_ idea what Penny needed, you doubted it had anything to do with the case, but she seemed to be struggling with it.

“Everything okay?”  Spencer’s brow furrowed in concern.  It wasn’t unusual for Garcia to send multiple texts in a few minutes without any room to respond, but the fact you said she was having a _crisis_ was a bit…

“It sounds like a personal problem, but I’ll let you know if we need help.”  Spencer once again felt his heart thud against his chest at your smile before _shoving_ those feelings down and nodding in an affirmative before getting back to work.  You made your way down the halls to the tech cave Garcia worked, only to find her almost _immediately_ attacking you as you entered.

“Oh thank god!  I need your help!”

“I gathered, take a seat and tell me what’s going on,” you gently coaxed the tech analyst back to her desk, closing the door behind you, and leaned back against the one clear desk in the room.

“I think Morgan’s getting too close to Ms. Barnes, she’s the sister of one of the victims, and I’m worried that…that it’ll all just blow up,” Penny filled you in, her voice flooded with concern as it threatened to crack a few times, “I mean, what if – “

“It’s alright, there’s a lot that could go wrong, I know.”  That was definitely a bad idea, for both people involved, as it could hurt Ms. Barnes ability to mourn and heal properly, it could make higher ups – or even the jury during a trial – question Morgan’s objectivity, Ms. Barnes might only see him as a savior and not for who he is, or Morgan might only see her as a victim to be protected and saved…it was all a potential disaster.

“How do I talk to him about it?  I mean…you called him out and he got over it pretty quick.  I was just wondering if you had any advice…”

“Uh…well…honestly I just told him he was wrong,” you admitted honestly, “I was a bit of a bitch about it, so you should be fine as long as you put it gently and remind him you’re only concerned for him.  I mean, he adores you, Penny.  He might not like what you tell him, but he won’t hold it against you.”

“You sure?”  She was so worried.  When it came to her favorite things about this job, her friendship with Morgan was second only to the ability to bring peace to victims and act in the name karma.  She didn’t want to risk that, but she couldn’t just sit by and watch one of her best friends make what could easily be a _massive_ mistake.  She just wasn’t that kind of person.

“He might be upset about it, but it’ll be okay,” you leaned over to hug Penny, hearing her take a deep breath as she hugged you back and relaxed a little.  With the promise of being there if she needed anything else, you left to get back to the case.

 

********

 

There was a plan to vandalize shops and restaurants around Dupont Circle.  It was well outside of the unsubs usual hunting grounds, but they weren’t about to just _let go_ of the fact something else was taking the focus off of them.  To say things were a shit show would be an understatement.  After the first attempts at making arrests, people started resisting.  There was yelling, screaming, broken glass, _fire_ , active fighting against the police, and not enough prisoner transport vans for everyone.  To top things off Detective Andrews wasn’t thinking with his head.  The morning after the riot, he asked the team to step aside.

You weren’t about to _do_ that, but he was on a warpath and wasn’t thinking clearly…if at _all_.

To top things off, Ms. Barnes showed up.  Morgan escorted her outside so she could get some air, nothing out of the ordinary, but then he took the second suburban to _drive off_ with her.  Yeah, sure, he was giving her a ride home.  But she got to the precinct herself, she could get back home herself.

It was a fucking _disaster_ of a case.

The members off the team that were present filed into the round-table room, though Spencer had pretty much parked himself there, save for leaving to examine crime scenes.

“I talked to the local beat cops,” JJ announced as she joined the rest of you after trying to make peace with at least a few members of the D.C.P.D., “They’re getting word out to local businesses to keep an eye out for anyone who seems agitated by the news of last night’s riot.”

“By now, Andrews has to know that none of those kids are the unsubs.”  Rossi stood at the far end of the table.

“Then he’s bound to beef up police presence in the southeast,” Hotch reminded the rest of you the state of mind Andrews was in, the exact reason you were all working against the detective’s request for you to step back, “We should be there too.  The faster we can react, the more we can help.”

“Do you think the unsubs know about the riot?” Penny asked, hoping there was a chance the unsubs never found out.

“They’re going to be glued to the media to relive their crimes and news of the riot was the focus of every news channel and on the front of every newspaper.  They _have_ to know by now,” you sighed, sitting forward in your seat and tapping the end of your pen against the table a few times.

“And if the profile’s right?”  She was growing more worried by the second.

“They’re reaction’s gonna be quick and it’s gonna be brutal.”  Spencer’s tone was solemn as he answered.  The air in the room was tense.  You’d all hoped it wouldn’t but…the only way this was going to end was a _suicide by cop_.  It was an ending but…it was never a good one, never the ideal.

“Basically, it’s like knowing that lightning is gonna strike, but not being able to pinpoint where.”  Emily got up from her seat as she explained, her nerves just as on edge as the rest of you, looking at the map to see if there was any way to predict where they’d hit.

You.  Had.  _Nothing._

 

********

 

Two more dead, in a bar.  They nailed the bartender’s hands to the bar before he was beaten, the one patron was just beaten.  Detective Andrews was far from happy to see you at the scene, but he let you in anyway.

“I’m getting real sick of us being right and it just not mattering,” Morgan snapped, to nobody in particular, as he lifted the white cloth over the patron so you and he could the extent of his injuries.

“This is weird,” Emily was focused on the nails, “The unsubs are extremely physical.  They beat their victims mercilessly with blunt objects.  Why aren’t these nails pounded in?”

“They look industrial, most likely a nail gun,” you looked at the nails.

“With all the gentrification and turnover in housing in the neighborhood, what’s a common sight these days?” Hotch thought aloud, his own realization spreading to the rest of you.

“Builders, contractors, and construction workers,” Rossi answered simply, catching on like the rest of you as the pieces started to fit together.

“Wait a minute, killing four people in that first home invasion, that never made sense to me, unsubs _build_ to something like that,” Morgan stepped in, “[L/N] was right, the first two rounds of vandalism were _typical_.  Car windows smashed, restaurants with the plate glass broken, but that last case, right before the home invasion.  That was a random construction site a single-family townhouse.”

“Contractors would know how to put up walls, create a place to hide a body,” you caught onto what he was getting at, confirming your gut instinct at the beginning as Emily stepped outside to call Garcia and get the address on the townhouse that was vandalized.

Morgan was determined to be at the front of _everything_ , insisting he investigate the townhouse with Emily instead of you like Hotch had said.  The rest of you shared glances, you’d all caught onto his…relationship with Tamara Barnes, but that moment in the middle of a crime scene wasn’t the time to say anything.

Maybe it was the best, because you’d received another series of texts from Penny asking for help.

“You talked to him?” you asked as you shut the door to Penny’s lair of technological wonders, stepping around to lean back against the empty table.

“Yeah, he was upset and argued and I know you said that he’d get over it but I feel _really_ bad.”

You figured it would be something about that.

“He’ll be angry at first, but give him some space and he’ll be fine.  Next time you talk to him he’ll have gotten over it,” you reassured, placing a hand on Penny’s shoulder and leaning over to look her directly in the eye as she tried to calm her nerves by remaining in her safe zone, the place where she could do the most to help, “Trust me, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded, taking a sharp intake of breath – just short of a sniffle – and turning back around to get back to work after giving you a smile and a, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Penny.”

 

********

 

You were right, Penny and Morgan were going to be just fine.  The contractor found in the wall of the vandalized house was another story.  Morgan called to have Garcia run through a list of everyone that worked on the house, and she found that all three of them live at the same address.  You followed the locals to the house, finding one of them editing a _video_ of their latest murders, along with videos of all the others.

The big question – now – was _where were the other two?_

Penny got you the vehicle information for the APB Detective Andrews was calling in, and it was spotted right next to the pack’s current work site.

“You know what gets me?” Morgan was the last one to lower his weapon, even after the unsub was cuffed and restrained by two SWAT officers, “See, we figured you were down and out, pissed off, but you’re out here working.  What is so god-awful about your life that you gotta take it out on the rest of the world?”

The unsub gave a shrug and the worst _possible_ answer.

“It was fun, boss.”

It didn’t matter how quickly the rest of you rushed to find the others.

You all knew how this was going to go.

None of the cops were going to listen to the fact that the unsubs were so empowered by, so _thrilled_ by, brute force that they wouldn’t be carrying guns.

Those last two were going to _make sure_ to give a reason for the cops to shoot, and they didn’t even know they’d be shot if they so much as _breathed_ wrong.

You didn’t even bother taking your gun out of its holster, just waiting for Hotch to head back to the car before you followed suit and climbed into the second suburban and made your way back to the precinct to pick up JJ and Spencer.

“I’m guessing we don’t have to ask how it ended,” JJ heaved a heavy sigh from the back seat, leaning her head back against the headrest.  It wasn’t the death of the unsubs that was the problem.  It was the reminder that entire police departments, entire precincts, can forget what they stand for and start acting as agents of _vengeance_ instead of _justice_.  It was a bubbling cauldron and it was going to blow, eventually.  The only question was how long it would take.

“No.”  You were quiet as you pulled out of the parking spot and back onto the road, you’d only texted that you were waiting outside instead of going in.  You just…you wanted to go home.  All that violence, and the very people that were supposed to do their best to fight against it only fell into that pit.  Worse yet…people were already questioning Hotch’s ability to lead.  Not anyone on the team, but it was only a matter of time until the higher-ups insisted that he step down or _remove_ him.

With this turn of events that was going to be _sooner_ rather than _later._

 

********

 

Both JJ and Spencer opted to go right home after you drove them back to Quantico, but you went back upstairs to see if any of your contacts turned up anything on Foyet.  You weren’t surprised the bullpen was just about empty, even Hotch still in his office wasn’t a surprise, it was the fact he was tossing back the rest of a half-glass of brown liquor that threw you off.  It’s not like you thought he didn’t drink…

It was the fact he was _in the office._

“Hotch,” you knocked on the open door just as he was pouring two drinks, “I’m guessing one of those is for me…”

“Have a seat,” he nodded over to the couch along the far wall and handed you one of the glasses before pulling over one of the chairs from in front of his desk to sit facing you, “By now, you’ve likely figured the brass will be questioning my ability to lead this team.”

“It’s a matter of time, and from what I’ve heard Strauss won’t do much to help, but this doesn’t explain why you’re giving me free booze,” you replied, getting right to the point as you took a swig, “What’s going on Hotch?”

“If… _when_ we find Foyet, I can’t guarantee I will remain objective.  I have plans to ask Morgan to take over for me, and Rossi will help where he can, but hunting a man like Foyet is far more dangerous than any of us thought it would be.”  Hotch didn’t like asking this.  It was…his clash with Foyet was _personal_ , he shouldn’t have to ask this of anyone.  “I can’t guarantee _any_ of us will be able to remain objective, but you’ve shown an ability to do just that in…impossible moments.”

“ _Remaining objective_ , that’s what we’re calling it?”  You knew what he was trying to say without saying it.  “I was going to kill the bastard anyway.”

You tossed back the rest of your drink and placed the glass onto the coffee table before getting up and making your way back to the door.

“[Y/N].”

You stopped, Hotch didn’t normally refer to any of you by your first names.  That was just part of the culture.  He looked up at you, visibly wounded and _hating_ the position he was in despite his determination _not_ to let Foyet win.

“Thank you.”

“You’re part of the team, Hotch, like or not we look out for you too.”


	33. Uncomfortable Arrangements (For Everyone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As good as a leader as Morgan is, I feel like he made it pretty clear he didn't want Hotch's job. He handled it as well as he could for having to learn on the job, but he was still pretty miserable with it.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Uncomfortable Arrangements (For Everyone)

 

You were spending more and more time at the gun range.  It was unnecessary, you were already cleared for heavy firearms and sniper rifles but considering what Hotch asked you to do…it was an old habit you’d started years ago.  Specialists are given more time to prepare when sent on their first… _extermination_ , and that time period would decrease as the specialist would become more and more experienced.

You’d been at the point you had just enough time for necessary preparations, and you couldn’t say you were _proud_ of that.  The ability to drop everything, pack a bag, and hop on a plane just to find someone and kill them was something that not only unnerved those around you, but…having that ability unnerved _you._   _As it very well should._

You’d seen agents who weren’t unnerved with having that ability, seen what they became, and swore you’d never become that.

This wasn’t preparation for a hit.  This was preparation for protecting the team, the family, from a monster that was going to haunt the team with every breath he took.  So, the solution was simple.

_Stop him from breathing._

One in the heart, one in the head.

“Gun range again?” Emily asked lightly when you made your way into the BAU and to your desk.

“Most my shows are on season break and it passes the time,” you shrugged, taking off your jacket and hanging it off the back of your chair, “I miss anything?”

“Only that Hotch is stepping down and Morgan’s taking over, nothing much,” Emily _played_ casual, but through her sarcasm it was clear she was bothered by the lack of explanation.  Morgan just said it was happening and refused to say _anything else._   You couldn’t exactly _blame_ her.  It was a bit of a whirlwind for those who didn’t know to expect it.  He was clear that it was temporary, he made no secret of telling everyone in the BAU that fact, and if he could tell the local cops you dealt with as well he absolutely would.

He’d grow into the position, he was learning on the job, but it wasn’t what he _wanted_ to do.  Maybe he’d take a leadership position someday, he planned on that, but now?  After he took time to think about?

Not now.  Not yet.

He’d made that clear over drinks the night before, right before you teased him and he countered by asking if that was a position you’d ever want.  It wasn’t about to happen, but the sheer thought sent you into a stone-cold terror that had you frozen in place.  Hotch had filled Morgan in on what you’d been asked to do to insure this was all over – for good – one day, and it wasn’t long until you got a text to meet at a local bar to talk over drinks.  It was something you’d need to discuss, given the circumstances and implications, especially consider it would involve _explaining_ it at some point.

You looked up from going through the files stacked in the black _inbox_ on your desk before sitting down, “A meeting with Strauss in the break room.  He is aware we have a meeting room, right?”

Spencer recognized that tone, turning to ask you, “Did you know this would happen?”

“I knew Hotch was going to step down and ask Morgan to step up, but I didn’t know _when_ ,” you explained, keeping an eye on the meeting as Hotch made his way over to offer his office for their use, “It’s not like I could go around telling anyone, not with how rumors spread like wildfire.”

Your reasoning was solid, and even if it wasn’t they wouldn’t be _mad_.  It wasn’t your style to go about advertising everyone’s business, and it _really_ wasn’t your place to say anything about the changing leadership of the team.

“Guys,” Morgan called over, “We got a case.”

 

********

 

There was something else, but Spencer wasn’t going to ask about it in front of everyone.  They were small details, things he wasn’t sure anyone else would pick up on this early, but it was still something.  You did make a bi-weekly trip to the gun range and spent a few hours at the gym every week, but not nearly _this_ much.  You’d gone to the range for an hour every morning for the last week, you’d gone right to the gym every evening, and then there was the change in your attire.

You admitted you weren’t as efficient or quick on your feet in heels, but you had an appearance to give and at your size and age it was the best way to carry an image of authority that commanded respect.  You kept things at a strict line between _professional_ and _functional_ , but that was blurring.  Your low-tops were hardly ever dirty, and you never wore the ones decorated with the _Union Jack_ , but you only ever wore them when there wasn’t a case.  The same was with your series of t-shirts.  It wasn’t _odd_ for you to wear a t-shirt to work, but you normally tried to alternate between them and blouses on top of matching them with a blazer or nice cardigan, same with how you alternated jeans with slacks.  This was a week of nothing but jeans with nothing but t-shirts and a jacket you kept nearby in case you got chilly.

Then there was the fact your hair was tied back into a ponytail _every_ day, all day, when you’d normally just clip back a few strands or let it flow loosely.

They were small things, small changes in habit, but they worried Spencer.

This was no time for that.  There was a case in Oklahoma, an enucleator had killed two teenage girls and a 61-year-old man.  The odd thing was, he’d taken the eyes _with_ him, which was out of the ordinary.  Then there was the fact the murders were less than 48 hours apart, the unsub escalated from one to two, and from a secluded place to somewhere more public.

“The color of all the victims’ eyes are different,” Emily ruled out a potential piece of victimology as she flipped through the file, “So, that probably doesn’t factor into victimology.”

“It’s more likely what he _sees_ in the eyes,” Spencer suggested, keeping the fact most enucleators suffer from mental illness, “Case studies show that most enucleators suffer from delusions.”

“They hear voices and see things in people’s eyes.”  Morgan looked up from his copy of the file, briefly, having moved to lean against the counter by the couch to meet with the rest of you either around the table or sitting on the couch.

“They’re driven to enucleate to destroy the devil,” Rossi clarified what was the _most_ common delusion enucleators suffered from.

“It points to someone who may have been institutionalized and recently released,” Hotch concluded, he’d been otherwise quiet during the flight, until the discussion started.  That wasn’t odd, it was the fact he didn’t have any paperwork to be working on to excuse his silence.

Foyet couldn’t be _taken care of_ soon enough.

“I’ll have Garcia start looking.”  JJ grabbed her phone to use the in-jet wifi to send an email.

“Alright, so talk to me.  What makes these attacks so different?”  Morgan’s attempt was well-meaning, but a bit…

He was just as uncomfortable with this as everyone was, especially considering the _reason_ behind it.

“With victim one there were multiple blunt-force strikes to the head – a more personal kill,” Hotch pointed out the key difference in M.O.

“He disposed of the body, maybe a forensic countermeasure,” Emily suggested as she closed her copy of the file and placed it on the table.

“The next murders seemed less personal, more opportunistic,” Rossi compared the two, summing up the _massive_ difference in M.O. from blunt-force trauma to slitting the Cortaid.

“Perhaps the unsub knew him,” Spencer concluded, following the same line of thought you were going down.

“At the very least, he might be involved in the trigger, enucleators don’t just wake up one day and start _actually_ gouging out eyes,” you proposed as you closed your file and placed it onto the empty spot next to you on the couch.

“Prentiss, I want you to go to the disposal site, see if you can figure out why he was dumped there.  Rossi, you and I are gonna go to last night’s crime scene – “ Morgan was cut off when JJ reminded him of a more unfortunate part of his job.

“Actually, uh, the girls’ families asked to speak to our team leader.”

Describing the brief silence as _uncomfortable_ would be an understatement.

“Alright um…” Morgan regrouped, “Okay, in that case, Rossi, you can handle the crime scene solo.  JJ, your with me, and Hotch, [L/N], Reid, I want you to get into John O’Heron’s life, see if anything at all points to a personal motive.”

 

********

 

The three of you made a beeline for the local precinct, Detective Brantley introducing himself and waiting just long enough for Hotch to introduce you and Spencer before getting right to work showing you were the first body was found just north of town and the two girls were found _in_ town 22 miles away from the first dump site.

“That’s unusual,” Spencer observed just after he took a seat at the nearby table, his necessity for crutches leading him to take a seat as soon as possible.

“What?” Detective Brantley asked, already frazzled.  This case was far outside of any experience he’d had before and the lack of evidence didn’t help his nerves.

“Serial killers normally have a smaller hunting ground, it’s like a comfort zone for them,” you explained as you leaned back against the far end of the table, crossing your arms casually.  There wasn’t much time to expand as Spencer’s phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket.

“It’s our technical analyst,” he was sure to let you, Hotch, and the detective know who was calling before he answered, with a slight warning, “Hey Garcia, you’re on speaker phone.”

 _“So, I looked dup recently released mental health patients who have a history of eye gouging, eye assault, and other gross things you can do to eyes and eye sockets,”_ she started, pushing herself away from one desk to roll her chair from one monitor to another.

“Penny, you’re not about to break my heart, are you?”

_“I’m sorry, English, but there’s no bingo for Okie City.”_

“Any other recent attacks involving assaults on eyes?” Hotch asked, trying to find some kind of lead.

_“There’s one nine months ago.  He’s not your guy cause he’s in jail.”_

“We’ll call later.”  Hotch turned back to the board as you and Spencer said farewell to home base before he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“You think he’s fresh out of an asylum?”  Detective Brantley was desperate to understand anything at this point, any hope for a lead, anything at all.  He’d been handed one bizarre murder with no clues, less than 48 hours later he had two teenagers murdered by the same guy and their families just as desperate for answers as he was.

“Either that, or he’s been held somewhere and now he’s free,” Hotch clued the detective in on the current theory, keeping it general as to not risk the local detective forming a laser focus in the wrong direction.

“We’ve seen eye assaults before.  You know, bar brawls, rapes, domestic abuse cases,” Detective Brantley took a deep breath as he calmed his nerves, trying to reassure himself as much as the three of you that he wasn’t completely inexperienced in seeing something along these lines, “But nothing like this.”

“That’s not surprising, enucleators on their own are uncommon, it’s even stranger that he’s taking the eyes with him.  It’s a good thing you called as quickly as you did,” you consoled carefully, the detective nodding in response.

“What the hell’s he doing with the eyes.”

There wasn’t an answer to that, not yet, but Hotch listed off a few possibilities, “He could be collecting them as a trophy of some sort.”

“They wouldn’t keep long as trophies,” Spencer corrected, once again teaching everyone in the immediate area something you wouldn’t have known – or even thought of – otherwise, “Eyes are 80% vitreous humor, which is essentially water.  After a few hours, they begin to get cloudy and wilt.”

“Any other theories?”

“There have been cases where after enucleation, mental patients have consumed the eyeballs.”

You were afraid Spencer was going to say _something_ like that.

“So,” you sighed as you looked at what little evidence decorated the board with the map of the city, “Either the unsub found a way to preserve the eyes, or we’re looking at a very specific type of cannibalism.”

_Please don’t be the cannibalism._

_It’s been less than a year since the last cannibal._


	34. Hunting A Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FULL DISCLOSURE ABOUT THE HUNTING THING: I actually have gone hunting. I live in Pennsylvania and we refer to deer hunting season as the ‘deer harvest’ and pretty much every school closes on the first day of deer season because NOBODY IS GOING TO BE THERE. It’s become kind of a cultural thing because the goddamn things are to us what rats are to New York City. I’m not even joking. If we don’t hunt them they take over the place and throw off the state’s biodiversity.
> 
> There’s also the fact that venison is delicious and deer bologna is the best kind of bologna.
> 
> That being said, if you have a friend from PA that doesn’t think Bambi is all that sad, that would be why.
> 
> They’re overgrown forest rats that fuck our shit up, jump into the road and wreck our cars, walk around our neighborhoods without a care and eat everything out of our gardens, and risk throwing off the biodiversity which would then fuck up the entire ecosystem.
> 
> I was super excited to write the little banter between Rea and Hotch. Like SUPER excited. Idk why. I just was.
> 
> A final heads-up. The next few chapters are gonna be a bit intense. I wanna try to get them out in the same time period, but I’m not 100% sure I will. I may/may not even post them one at a time even though it means leaving some cliff hangers here and there without an immediate follow-up.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Hunting A Hunter

 

“All of O’Herons friends said he had a history of drunken behavior, but couldn’t think of anyone that would hold a grudge,” you heaved a heavy sigh as you hung up the desk phone after your last phone call.  Hotch immediately grabbed the nearby marker and wrote that latest piece of information onto the whiteboard you were borrowing from the precinct.

“He was last seen leaving a bar, bartender on duty said he left without incident.”  Spencer briefly looked up from looking over the detailed files on the first murder and witness testimonies.

“Where did he go after that?” Hotch questioned as the genius went back to reading.

“I checked out the disposal site John O’Heron’s body was dumped,” Emily announced as she and Rossi joined the rest of you, Morgan and JJ had yet to return from speaking with one of the girls’ families, “It’s a remote farm road.  The unsub didn’t just stumble on it, he knows it.”

“We need a list of people who work or live near the area.”  After being in his position for so many years, taking charge of a situation wasn’t exactly something Hotch could _stop_ doing.  He kept that urge under control, but it didn’t help that it was instinctual for the rest of you as well.

“I got a bad feeling about this guy,” Rossi was set on edge, in a way he wasn’t normally.  He was experienced, he could normally face the kinds of things the team went up against without feeling queasy, but this case sent off all kinds of bells and whistles in his mind.

Rossi’s admission had caught Spencer’s attention.  “Why’s that?”

“He _chose_ that parking garage.  He was patient.  He hid and waited for the right victims and the right time and place, he blitzed them,” Rossi listed off as he led all of you to his conclusion, “It was all strategic.”

“That sounds way too organized for a typical enucleator,” Emily agreed after hearing it put out like that, something that would only click after seeing the scene of the second attack.

“It sounds more like _hunting_ than anything else.”  You turned a little in your seat to face Rossi, as he was almost directly behind you before turning back to the board, “So, it’s still about the eyes, but what if it’s not about delusions of cleansing the devil?  What if he _specifically_ needs the eyes for something?”

Now there was a scary thought…

“Just got off the phone with the M.E.,” the detective made his way over from his desk to speak with you, “Says there’s something you gotta see.”

 

********

 

John O’Heron’s eyes were ripped out, but the unsub was precise with his second and third victims – borderline surgical.  It wouldn’t take a doctor to do that, just the correct instrument, but the amount of effort he was going through was proof of one thing.

He was _keeping_ the eyes.

Like it wasn’t hard enough to sleep during cases, but this time you were all woken up by another victim.  Morgan took you, Hotch, and Emily to the scene where you found the trap he’d laid for her.  He was a hunter, you’d learned that much, and there was enough to give a profile to start off of but…

“He’s obviously a hunter, that’s a big part of the community here, but I’m still not sold on him being a doctor or has… _any_ medical training,” you sighed after delivering the profile to the local cops, keeping the discussion between yourself and Morgan, pausing and waiting when Morgan’s phone rang once again.  You watched as he dug it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID before hitting silence and dropping his phone back in his pocket.

“She’s just going to keep calling, if you’re not going to pull the battery out you might as well answer at least once,” you pointed out, hands casually on your hips as you looked at Morgan like he was being an idiot.

“I’ll deal with it later, what are you thinking?” Morgan brushed off the call, keeping the focus on the case.  He’d deal with everything else after the killer was taken off the streets.

“Hunting is a big thing in this area, maybe we should be focusing on that angle, look at things related to hunting that might involve enucleation of one kind or another,” you suggested, “That seems to be the one thing that keeps coming up as often as the enucleation and the first murder – the most impulsive one – was out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Alright, see if Reid has any ideas.  We’ll focus on that when we can, for now we’ve gotta help set up patrols for the night.  Go meet up with Hotch, short – “ Morgan stopped in the middle of his term of endearment, _‘short stack,’_ as it wasn’t appropriate anymore.  Not in the position he was in.

“Will do.  By the way, if you want me to answer Strauss’ calls, that’s a bad call.  I can imitate your accent and linguistic patterns, but only if you got hit _really_ hard in the pants,” you teased as you mimed hitting a golf club with a club.  Morgan couldn’t make a comeback, so he just snorted and shook his head as he held back his snickers while you grabbed an FBI vest and left to catch up with Hotch at the precinct.  Digging your phone out of your pocket you dialed Spencer’s number out of memory, hoping to bounce around some ideas, maybe get some confirmation on whether it was a good idea or a waste of time.

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

“There are hunting-related jobs or activities that might involve enucleation, right?”  You probably looked like a nutcase asking that question over the phone as you walked across the sidewalk, but brushed it off as you cradled your phone between your ear and shoulder as you started strapping on your FBI vest.  “Not humans, but mammals in general.  It would be pretty much the same, right?”

 _“It would…”_ Spencer said thoughtfully, like he was shifting through papers or trying to find something, _“I’m just not sure where else the unsub would learn that kind of skill.”_

“Don’t look at me.  If I was destined to hunt for food, I wouldn’t have been born during a time the _freezer section_ exists.”  Your little smirk grew when you heard Spencer’s laugh on the other end of the line.

_“You and me both.  I’ll look into it, see what I can find.”_

“Make sure you get some sleep first,” you nodded up at Hotch as he made his way down the concrete steps to the precinct steps, already prepared for your own patrol that was scheduled to last until about midnight – giving the team time to go back to the hotel and get some sleep.

_“Yeah…I’ll work on that…”_

“See, this is why we don’t accept your whole _‘second opinion’_ routine as proof that you’re fine,” you pointed out as you and Hotch started walking down the sidewalk, “You view sleep as _optional_ to survival.”

_“Really?  I thought it was because you told on me.”_

“I used to lie for a _paycheck_ , if you don’t want me to tattle _bribe me_.  You should _know_ this,” you laughed, smile immediately falling when you caught the look Hotch was giving you, “Gotta go, _Big Brother_ is giving me a look.”

_“Good luck.”_

You hung up and tucked your phone back into your pocket, expecting the conversation to turn one way but _not_ the way it _did_ turn.

“ _Big Brother?”_ Hotch questioned, his attention immediately caught by the nickname you’d given him.

“It’s a common term for feds, and you’re such a classic fed,” you shrugged, keeping an eye out for anything that fit the profile, or just struck you as _odd_ while the two of you made your way closer to one of the unsub’s hunting grounds.

“That’s a little _pot calling the kettle black_ from a former MI6 spy, don’t you think?”  Hotch’s tone didn’t change _at all_ from his usual stern and professional tone, which only made the retort all the better – as far as your opinion was concerned.

“ _Ooh_!”  You burst into laughter, catching Hotch’s amused smirk as it didn’t immediately fade like it normally did on the job, “Mind if we stop by a pharmacy?  I think I need some aloe for that burn.”

“There should be one just a few blocks south.”

 

********

 

Another pair of victims, found in the park, and this time they were led into the woods.  He severed the girl’s throat and took her eyes, but the boy’s eyes he left because he’d damaged one of them during the struggle.  So, not only did he need the eyes, but he needed a _matching pair._

“Oh my god…”  It all clicked in Morgan’s head.  You’d been onto something, focusing on anything specifically connected to _hunting_ instead of assuming medical training was the right way to go, you just didn’t know which direction to take that final jump.  He’d thrown the idea out there, as crazy as it sounded, to Hotch and Prentiss before calling the rest of you back at the precinct.

“A _taxidermist_?”  That was definitely a new one for JJ.

“Morgan might be onto something,” Rossi replied as he mulled the idea around and made the connections himself, “The unsub’s collecting sets of eyes that need to be flawless.”

“Because he’s preserving them as a trophy of some kind,” Spencer added, nodding along as all the pieces fit together.

“He’s a hunter, and if a hunter wants to keep his pray as a trophy he takes it to a taxidermist,” you finished up, as it all started to make some real sense, “And they would have the skills our unsub has.”

“And the supplies, it makes sense.”

“Do they know how to surgically remove eyes like this?”  JJ asked, she was familiar with taxidermy it was the required skills she wasn’t familiar with.  This whole case had been _bizarre_ from the start, and it seemed like it was only going to get _weirder._

“Yeah, they have anatomy knowledge, they have to cut through muscle, tissue, and nerves in order to remove hide,” Spencer listed off the basic skills a taxidermist would need, “It’s the exact same thing for eyeballs”

JJ grabbed her phone from the table as it rang, giving the _usual_ warning when she answered, “Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

That had just become a _boilerplate_ warning for Garcia after that _spanking_ joke she’d made when a local detective was around to overhear.

 _“Comrades, I cross-referenced this John O’Heron with Okie City animal stuffers.  Turns out he wrote a $250 check as some sort of deposit for Lloyd’s Wild Game Shop six weeks ago,”_ Garcia started off with what she already had as she continued to dig up more, _“Now, this place is scant miles from the farm road where our first victim was dumped.”_

“Does Lloyd have a record?” Spencer asked, looking for something that could give some sort of insight into the owner himself.

_“Uh…Lloyd Bulford has one recent record from the city, and it is…a death certificate.  He died four weeks ago.”_

You rubbed at your eye, careful to avoid smudging your makeup despite the setting spray you quickly applied every morning, as you groaned, “One of these days we’ll have a case where our first solid suspect isn’t dead, and we won’t know how to deal with that.”

Rossi shot you a look as he dug his cell out of his jacket pocket and asked, “Any employees with criminal records?”

_“He’s got no employment records at all.  He has a 28-year-old son named Earl who lives with him, who has a petty crime record, and three counts of animal cruelty.”_

“Garcia, get everything on the son,” Rossi gave one last request to the technical analyst before bringing the phone to his ear, “Morgan, we may have someone.”

 

********

 

The field office was between the taxidermist shop and the latest crime scene, so you strapped on an FBI vest and grabbed an earpiece and strapped a com unit to your wrist as you dashed outside and climbing into a suburban with Hotch, Morgan, and Emily and taking off to find Earl Bulford as Garcia filled you in on the rest of the information over speaker phone.

_“Mom had a degenerative eye disease called retinitis pigmentosa, which would eventually lead her to go blind and considering his crimes, that’s super weird, right?  So, anyway, she died in a car accident when he was eight, and then he gets expelled from school for getting in a fight with a kid and trying to gouge the kid’s eyes out.  I have no record of him returning to school, he has no employment records, he’s never filed for taxes, he doesn’t have a credit card in his name.  Besides his driver’s license, there’s no record on him at all.”_

“That’s probably why he didn’t show up on any of our lists,” Morgan reasoned, holding the phone as close to the center of the four of you as he could.

“Sounds like he’s totally dependent on his dad, and when dad dies, there’s no one left to check up on him,” Emily put the pieces together as the unsub’s profile started to reform from what you already had.

_“Okay, dad drove a 1991 dark-brown Chevy cargo van.  Hot news – creditors took the house this week, and a lien was put on the business.”_

“Lost his dad, his house, about to lose the family business,” Hotch listed off the number of stressors as he steered the car down the back roads.

“It’s like he hit the stressor jackpot,” you commented, on the list of things that piled up and caused Bulford’s snap, “It’s possible his father knew he wasn’t completely stable and tried to take care of it himself.  Either way, we’re dealing with someone that has a fourth-grade education, we need to be careful.”

Hotch pulled the car up to the shop, meeting Detective Brantley and parked, the four of you stepping out – in your case it was more like _jumping_ – before stepping into the shop.  You followed Hotch and Brantley around the back as Emily and Morgan went around front.

“There’s no van here,” Hotch immediately reported as you and Brantley unholstered your guns, Hotch quickly following suite as you filtered inside.

 _“I see blood, we’re going in,”_ Morgan warned before he and Emily broke in to investigate further, Hotch kicking open the back door so you could enter as well.  After a thorough check, it was clear the shop was empty, save for all the animal skeletons and hides all over the workshop.  Bulford wasn’t there, he was likely out hunting again, but you still got answers…

Really creepy answers.

“Well…” you couldn’t help yourself as Morgan turned the bobcat to face the rest of you and show you the human eyes it was outfitted with, “That’s going to haunt me till the day I die.”

 

********

 

Bulford was hunting in the area of his clients.  He’d deliver to them, then stick around to hunt for victims.  The last delivery he made had glass eyes, but the van was nearby.  Detective Bartley took a uniformed officer and went up north while you and Hotch went south.  It was only minutes before the two of you heard a cry for help coming from a construction site you were passing by.

“Go!  I’ve got her!” you skidded to your knees when you found Bulford kneeling over a woman just before taking off when you’d caught him.  Hotch caught Bulford just as he was trying to climb a fence to get away, grabbing him and yanking him down on the ground.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” you hushed to the woman as you carefully reached for the clamp keeping her eye open, “Stay still.”

Morgan and Emily didn’t arrive until after Bulford had been cuffed and put into the back of a cruiser and the last victim was being examined in an ambulance, and Morgan wasn’t… _exactly_ pleased.

“You two just ran in there without backup?”  An unsub this dangerous normally warranted a SWAT team, or at least a team of _four_ , but the two of you just dashed in there, and this was going to be hell trying to explain, “You couldn’t have waited for backup?”

“Would you?”

_Ooh._

Sassy Hotch strikes again.


	35. Finding Peter Rhea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to do ‘The Performer’ cause it’s one of my fave episodes, but there is such a thing as drawing things out too long and I just didn’t want to draw things out that much.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Finding Peter Rhea

 

You sat outside the meeting room, the rest of the team sitting in the seats to your right or left save for Hotch.  Rossi seemed to be the only one who didn’t go above and beyond to leave a good impression on the brass, though his prior experience and sheer _fame_ likely had something to do with that.  He’d been through this before and he fully expected to be through it again.  Everyone else, however, was as on edge as you’d ever been.

You looked down at your hands, clutching your FBI badge in your lap, and flipped it open to look at the two-year-old photo of yourself adorned on your government ID.  You looked like a completely different person…looking back you _where._

Everyone looked up when JJ was called into the room first, you couldn’t tell if there was any rhyme or reason to the order, and she communications liaison looked back at the rest of you one last time – each one of you silently sending her as much support as you could – before she stepped inside and the door shut.

You’d known the risks when you made that promise.

For you, this wasn’t just about your place on the team.

You knew you could absolutely lose your badge – at best – if something went wrong.

_And things went horribly, horribly wrong._

 

********

 

You had all been trying to find something on Foyet, but when he sent calling cards to Karl Arnold – the Fox – you were all thrown into a frenzy all over again.  They were sent to the lab, but you were all aware that the only prints on those letters were going to be Arnold’s.  What she wanted was to find out where they were postmarked, even if it, as she told Agent Anderson, meant someone had to drive to the Postmaster General’s house.

To top things off, any attempts to find someone in need of the exact same prescriptions as Foyet was coming up with _nothing_.  It was reasonable to believe he’d be able to get some of them off the street, but he’d done _extensive_ damage to himself by stabbing himself to convince the world he was a victim.  There were drugs nobody else was going to have an interest in _unless_ a doctor specifically stated they needed them.

It was during a trip to the pharmacy with Henry and Will, after the pharmacist told them how to substitute over the counter medication for a prescription that had yet to be filled, that a revelation struck JJ like lightning.

“Are there a lot of over-the-counter medications that can be substituted for prescriptions?” JJ asked, so entirely focused she didn’t catch the look of pride on Will’s face.  He knew how worried JJ was, he knew how the idea of being in Hotch’s shoes terrified her, and he knew how guilty she felt for not doing more even though she was already doing everything she could.  But this…

He couldn’t help but be proud as she caught onto a case-breaking revelation in the middle of a routine trip to the pharmacy.

“Too many to count,” the pharmacist answered simply, “Most of the time it’s just a matter of dosage.”

 

********

 

JJ was quiet as she left her interview.  Quiet but…frustrated.  Like she felt nobody listened, not _really_.  She wasn’t allowed to _say_ anything, however, as there was an agent from Internal Affairs watching all of you closely to keep just that from happening.  So, instead, you all just…said _nothing_ – except for Rossi who would occasionally grumble at the game of Tetris he’d downloaded onto his phone to pass the time.

“Special Agent Garcia,” Strauss kept it simple, stepping back inside the meeting room as the technical analyst stood up in a rush, turning to the door and freezing for a moment as she gathered herself.  She’d been scared of this since it was announced.  Everything that had happened was so fresh in _everyone’s_ minds.  She took a deep breath and stepped inside, taking a seat in the thick silence that drowned out the sound of the door shutting.

“Would you like some water?” Strauss offered, having yet to take a seat.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Garcia’s voice was quiet, timid.  This was not something she was comfortable with when things went _well_ , but with how things ended…

“Are you alright?”

“I – I’m just not, uh…comfortable with any of this,” she admitted, it was clear and there was no use in lying.  Not when lying about it would only make things worse.  “It’s not okay.”

“What do you mean?”  Strauss kept her voice calm, gentle, she may not be a profiler but she could clearly recognize that a more deft touch was required for Garcia, and she sat down across from the technical analyst.

“In my opinion, everyone is asking the wrong questions.”  Garcia had been practicing that for days, trying to keep her voice strong and firm even through her fear, holding back her tears as best she could as she continued, “Doesn’t anybody care what _he_ did to _them?_   How many people he hurt?  All anyone seems to care about is…This just isn’t right.”

Strauss was quiet for a moment, it was hard to tell what her own opinions on the matter were, and she worded her question carefully.  “Do you think that Agent Hotchner was acting…agitated or unreasonable?”

“He – “ Garcia started tearing up as she shook her head and tried to keep calm and explain, the emotions still fresh.  “No, _no_ , he – he was freaked out about his family which, considering what happened, I’d say was perfectly reasonable.”

“And Agent [L/N]?  At any moment did her actions concern you?”

“Wha – what?  _No_.  No, if she…if she hadn’t…”

 

********

 

Garcia had been eating breakfast in her office with Kevin, as he tried to talk her into trying a _bacon doughnut_ when Hoth rush into her office telling Kevin he needed to leave.

“Th Foyet letters came from Fredericksburg, Virginia and Westminster, Maryland,” Hotch started, the processed letters still in his hand.

“We can match the prescription drugs _can’t_ substitute with a geographic profile of the two cities,” JJ finished, just as eager to track Foyet down.

_Everyone was._

“Can’t substitute?”

“We need you to track the drugs that can’t be emulated with over-the-counter drugs and can only be dispensed by a pharmacist, and you need to do it quickly,” Hotch fully explained just exactly what they were asking of Garcia, “Foyet doesn’t stay in one place very long.”

“Then Kevin needs to stay,” she was just as anxious to get this done as quickly as possible and that meant she needed help.  Though, that proclamation brought the other technical analyst out of his rush of getting his things back together.

“What?”

“Sir, Kevin is an amazing analyst.  I can work almost twice as fast with him running part of my system.”

Hotch took her word for it.  “Fine”

“These are your screens,” Garcia pointed to the second set of monitors and keyboard as she immediately got to work.

“Garcia, how long?”  Hotch was…he needed this to be over.

“I’ll know when I get into it,” she admitted as she pulled a chair over to her screens to sit and get to work.

“We’re gonna work the geographic profile,” Hotch informed, letting Garcia know where to find the rest of the team should she need to reach anyone, “Call me when you have something.  _Hurry._ ”

“Uh…okay…I am gonna start with the Ultram – “ she started off as she logged back in, thee second she was back in and her screen was once again filled with windows, it was like her brain clicked on at the same time, “ _No_.  You’re gonna start with the Ultram and Naproxen.  I’ll work on the rest.”

“We’ve got a lead on Foyet,” JJ announced, and all of you dropped _everything_ to head into the round-table room.  Emily hung up in the middle of a call, Spencer left his coffee on the break room counter, you dropped the file in your hands onto the nearest desk, and Morgan was already on his way into the meeting room after being called in his office.

“There’s approximately 115 miles between Fredericksburg and Westminster,” JJ started as she pulled a map up on the TV screen, “Why mail letters from two cities?”

“Maybe it’s purely a forensic countermeasure,” Morgan suggested, “He knows that mailing letters close to home would lead us right to him, so he drives far away to mail the letters to throw us off his scent.”

“The Unibomber did that, so did the 2001 Anthrax suspect,” Spencer recalled, and you were all aware that Foyet was clever enough to do keep that in mind.

“He could have gone anywhere, but he’s trolling the D.C. area,” Rossi pointed out.

“Of course, he is, he wants to hurt Hotch.  He seeks power and control.  He’s staying close to watch, he did the same thing with Shaunessy, we all knew that,” you countered.

“That’s why I stepped down,” Hotch added in, proving your point that he _knew_ Foyet was watching him, “So he’d think I was falling apart.”

“So, what are we going to do about the two cities?” JJ questioned as you tried to figure out the geographic profile, “Usually wee need three different points to get an accurate geographic profile.”

“That’s all we got right now,” Morgan was determined find a way to make it work, because that was the _only_ way it was going to work.

“Gaitheresburg, Rockville, D.C., Alexandria, Bowie, Annapolis…” Prentiss listed just a few of the potential places Foyet could be hiding.

“Where the hell are you Foyet?”

“Okay,” Garcia rushed into the meeting room with Kevin’s laptop in hand and placed it onto the table to work remotely until she needed full access to her systems, “Me and the boy found a thyroid medication that has no substitute over the counter.  You’ve gotta get it from a pharmacist, but a lot of people are on it.”

“Find the midpoint between the two cities and isolate names in a 25-mile radius,” Rossi advised Garcia on narrowing it down.

“153 names.”

“Well, he’s not gonna use his own name,” Morgan pointed out, reminding you of the other difficulty waiting for you, “What kind of aliases should we be looking for?

“He could have easily stolen someone’s identity,” Prentiss countered, adding another layer you had to sift through before Foyet picked up and moved to another identity and another town.

“No, he’s a narcissist in love with his own mythology,” Hotch reminded as he went through the growing file on Foyet, “He’d use a name connected with the case.”

“A victim, maybe, a cop,” Rossi suggested.

“No, those are all far too obvious, he made everyone think he was a victim for a decade.  He’s not going to use the name of someone _else_ connected with the case,” you argued.  Yes, Foyet wasn’t going to steal someone else’s identity, but he wasn’t going to create a new identity with the name of someone you’d all recognize.

“Wait a minute, guys,” Spencer got up and made his way to the clear case board and grabbed a marker, his recent transition from crutches – he _detested_ those things – to a carved wooden cane making it far easier, “The Eye of Providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him.  Maybe he’s doing the same thing with the alias.”

“An anagram,” you caught on as Spencer started running through every potential anagram of the name _George Foyet_ , “He wouldn’t be using his _legal_ name, he’s attached his entire identity to his title as _The Reaper_.”

“Right…” Spencer’s spaced tone didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, you’d learned that _long_ ago, and he scribbled down _The Reaper_ onto the board and got back to work.  He was just in his head, doing what he did best.  “Peter Rhea.”

Garcia started typing madly, “There’s a Peter Rhea in Arlington.”

You all turned to the address tagged on the map on the screen as Rossi announced what you’d all just pulled off.

“We found him.”


	36. Waiting Too Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, about Rossi and the game, he canonically plays video games and has a working knowledge of Grand Theft Auto’s characters, so I figure he was playing a game on his phone the entire time.
> 
> Also, I know it's not finished and I'm leaving you guys on a pretty nasty cliffhanger, but this particular story arc is EXHAUSTING. Especially since it leads up to a MASSIVE change in the way Rea views herself. I'm gonna keep working on it ASAP, but I needed to take a break.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Waiting Too Long

 

Garcia was still sniffling as she left the meeting room, making her way down the hall as she wasn’t allowed to stop and talk to the rest of you.  Hopefully she could find JJ or Kevin quickly, because she was about two seconds away from sobbing.

Rossi, on the other hand, didn’t look up from his phone as he entered the meeting room, and he didn’t look up from his phone as Strauss continued to talk to him.

_All he needed was that one long piece._

“Once the team located George Foyet’s potential apartment, why didn’t the BAU enter immediately?” Strauss questioned, sternly trying to get Rossi’s attention even though she _knew_ he was _purposely_ being difficult.

Rossi didn’t answer, though he _had_ turned off the sounds of his game.

“Agent Rossi?”  Just what point was he trying to prove?

“Hmm?”

“I asked you a question.”

He looked up from his game, holding his phone up as he spoke, “Gold is still going up, but knowing when to get out, _that’s_ the trick.”

He shut his phone and tucked it into his pocket.  Strauss practically ripped off her glasses in frustration and turned off the tape recorder in the center of the glossy wooden table, “What are you doing?”

“What’s the point of all this, Erin?” Rossi questioned, unafraid to ask what Strauss really thought she was doing, what the goal really was by having a series of interviews that weren’t going to get anyone anywhere.  “ _Why?”_

“So this never happens again – “

“There is _nothing_ a bureaucrat can do to make sure something like this never happens again.”  Rossi stood strong on that.  He’d seen things like this before.  Those related weren’t nearly as close to him, most of them were victims that still haunted him, but that didn’t change the point that it was _always_ going to happen.  There was nothing to be done to prevent it.

“So, we just wait for the next bloodbath?”

Rossi huffed.  There wasn’t an answer to that.  Not when there was no good answer either way.  Strauss turned the recorder back on and sat back in her chair.

“ _Why_ did you wait so long before going to Foyet’s apartment?”

“We had to be sure he was there.”  The answer was simple enough.  The _reason_ was simple enough.  “If we went in and he wasn’t, he would know we found him.  Of course, the longer we waited, the more time he had to…it was an impossible decision.”

“So, who made it?  Agent Hotchner?”

 

********

 

“How much longer do we wait?” Emily asked as she sat in an unmarked cruiser with Hotch, who was practically glued to the FBI issue binoculars as he watched the window of Foyet’s apartment.

“I need to leave that decision to someone else.”

“SWAT’s getting antsy,” JJ warned Morgan, Rossi, Reid, and you as you watched, waiting for Morgan’s go-ahead, all outfitted in FBI vests and ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“I’ll tell them when it’s time to go.  Right now, we sit tight.  Let them know,” Morgan snapped, he was getting agitated just by the fact SWAT was pacing a few yards back.  It was already a tense situation, he didn’t need the added stress.  JJ shut her eyes and held her own frustration back as she went back to the SWAT team to try and keep them calm.

“These guys were trained to move, not just sit around,” Morgan agreed, seeing where the SWAT team was coming from in their frustration, “I can’t really say that I blame them.”

“He might not even be there anymore,” Spencer brought up the worst-case scenario.

“I know,” Morgan heaved a heavy sigh and continued to watch the apartment through the binoculars in his hands, “And the longer we wait here the further away he gets.”

“You make the best call you can, kid,” Rossi reminded Morgan, specifically that there was no such thing as an _exact science_ with things like this.  Morgan heaved a heavy sigh and lowered the binoculars.

“[L/N]?”  You’d been quiet, and no doubt you had an opinion.  One that Morgan really hoped would bring an end to the dilemma.

“You’re right, there’s no good place for a sniper and climbing the fire escape to look in the window is just dumb,” you huffed a sigh, hands on your hips as you ran through everything _you_ would do before you got to the list of things _SWAT_ could do, “SWAT’s got gear to examine a situation before entering, send someone in to give us a look and hopefully we’ll be able to get something from there.”

As you waited for the agent to send the feed to the laptop on the desk, you swore _nobody_ was breathing.

_“Are you getting the signal?”_

“Copy,” Morgan answered simply, just as focused on trying to notice _something_ like the rest of you were.  By this point Emily and Hotch had joined the rest of you, hovering over Spencer’s shoulder and watching the screen.

_“Looks like kitchen table, chair.”_

“Is that a laptop on the table?” Spencer questioned as the camera slowly panned back and forth.

“It could be useful.”  Emily was right, there was a chance there was _something_ on there that could give an idea of Foyet’s whereabouts and activities in detail.

“Is that food?”

“Get closer to that.”

“Wait,” Hotch cut in, “Go back, what’s that on the floor?”

“That’s his mail.”

Hotch was already on his way to the apartment, and you were hot on his heels, before it clicked with everyone else.  Foyet’s mail wouldn’t be on the _ground_ unless something spooked him and he left an untouched meal out in the open.

He wasn’t going back to that apartment at any time soon.  Foyet left in a rush, making it easier to corner him, but he started killing when he was cornered.  Then there was the matter of the laptop, as a program was going through and completely wiping everything from the hard drive, something Emily noticed as the high-pitched beeping noises caught her attention and he bent over to see just exactly what the laptop was doing.

“We need to get Garcia on this.”

JJ was already pulling out her phone, calling Garcia’s desk before quickly explaining the situation to the technical analyst.

 _“He is creepy good.”_   Garcia warned as she worked on the other end of the line.

“How good?”  Spencer questioned.

_“He wiped his hard drive.  Might have been in a hurry to leave, but whatever was on there he did not want us to see it.”_

“Garcia, tell me that you hacked in and that you can rebuild it.”  Morgan was working on a prayer on that one.  Garcia was good – the best – but some things just require _actual_ miracles.  Real-life angels kind of miracles.

_“Watch me work, darling.”_

A determined Penelope Garcia is better than any miracle.

_“Hello.”_

“What have you got?” Hotch jumped in.  He needed something.  _Something_.

_“He had an internet alarm on the name Peter Rhea.  It alerted him as soon as we ran a check on it.”_

“What else did he wipe, Penny?”  You were searching for some kind of clue, something that would potentially lead to him.

Photos started flashing on the screen and one of them caught Morgan’s eye.

_A picture of the U.S. Marshall assigned to Hotch’s family._

The Marshall wasn’t answering his phone, and time was of the essence.

“We’re gonna need to deploy another SWAT unit,” Morgan planned aloud, a plan that JJ pointed out was going to take far too long.

“That’s gonna take another half hour.”

You and Hotch shared a glance.  You’d talked about this.  Prepared for it, far more than Morgan already knew.  The two of you stepped out, not even waiting, as the others followed behind.  In all the rush, as Spencer watched you jog into a run with Hotch down the hall, the last time the two of you had a quiet night flashed through his mind.

 

********

 

“What’s going on?” he’d asked you, and you’d expected it.  It wouldn’t take long for him to notice the changes in your daily routines, attire, even approach to…everything.

“I’m just…Foyet almost killed Morgan, he’s threatened Hotch’s family, attacked Hotch in his own home…I just need to make sure I’m prepared.  I don’t know if he’s going to come find us before we find him, and I want to make sure nobody else gets hurt.”

It wasn’t a yes.  It wasn’t a no.  It wasn’t a _lie_ , and it was an _answer_.  It was a _truthful_ answer.  It was just lacking in one specific detail.

You didn’t want him to find out about that.  You knew he would be disappointed in you, you knew he would feel _guilty_ because you felt you had to do this.  You also saw in his eyes, in that look that took your breath away once again, that he knew you weren’t telling him the whole truth.

He didn’t know _why_ you weren’t telling him the whole truth.

You just scootched closer and curled up into Spencer’s side, taking in the scent of old books and coffee that clung to him and mixed with his woody cologne in a way that always had you instinctively taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes as you relaxed, even if for a moment.  You opened your eyes once again, Spencer’s arm around your shoulders keeping you comfortably nestled into his side, when the recorded documentary started playing again, but there was only one thought running through your mind.

_‘If I don’t do this, he might hurt you too.’_

That same memory flashed into your head when Spencer was called into the conference room.

You hadn’t _lied_ , but that didn’t make you feel any less nauseous about it.

Then there was what happened as a result…

That compound had been one thing, but this?

Nobody was going to look at you the same way again.


	37. Almost There...Just A Little Further

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this. Mostly cause the whole episode is so sad and that’s what made me cry.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Almost There

 

“You left for Marshal Kassmeyere’s house immediately?”

Spencer was literally twiddling his thumbs and staring into the distance towards the desk as he realized he was losing his patience.  Despite his intelligence, he suffered fools quite well, but this was just…

_He literally **just** said that._

“Yes ma’am.”

This was easily the _worst_ part of the job.

“Wouldn’t this be a job for a tactical team?” Strauss took off her glasses, standing as she tried to stare down the genius.  It was no secret he had been Jason Gideon’s protégé and, much like Rossi, Jason Gideon had no problem fighting against brass or continuing an investigation after it had been taken over by another department.  If this trait was passed onto Dr. Reid…

Well, Strauss felt it was better not to take chances.

“We felt that it would take too much time to get authorization for another operation.”

 _“We?_ ”

“All of us.”  Did he really have to clarify that?  It’s _basic English._

“Don’t you mean _Agent Hotchner_ wanted that?”

“No, I mean all of us wanted that.”  Spencer continued before Strauss could argue again, pushing his point across.  “I know what you’re thinking, and I agree it would be easy for us to blame him.”

_“Easy?”_

“Yeah, why not just say it’s his fault and then we can all just forget about it,” he called her out on what the minds behind this entire show were thinking when they put it together, “But, uh, the problem is, I have an eidetic memory.  And that’s not what happened.”

“Then _what_ happened?”

 

********

 

You’d already cracked the door open as Hotch skidded the car to a halt, Morgan bringing the second SUV to a halt after circling around the other side of the street to make sure someone would spot Foyet or Marshal Kassemeyer if they were leaving or making their way to the house.  You all barged in, filtering in through the open door and checking each corner until you reached the Marshal, bleeding out on his living room floor.

“I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t…” he tried to talk to Hotch as the agent kneeled by the dying Marshal.

“We’re getting you an ambulance.”

“I tried…”

“Hang on.”

As everyone remained focused on the Marshal, you started looking around for clues, hints, traces, _anything._   There wasn’t time for sitting by the side of a dying man.  The life of two civilians – one of them being a _child_ – were hanging in the balance.

“I – “

“Just hang on, hang on,” Hotch tried to comfort the beaten and bleeding Marshal.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”  Hotch didn’t like the sound of that apology.  He knew Sam wouldn’t betray his family, but that didn’t mean Foyet wouldn’t find another way.

“I…I tried.”

“Are Jack and Haley safe?”  He had to know.  He had to know.  Please say yes.  Please say yes.

“Sam, tell me what happened?”

Foyet got in, waited for Sam to get home, tortured Sam for information.  He didn’t give anything, Foyet would have just killed the Marshal if that had been the case.  Instead, he left the Marshal to suffer and send Hotch a message.

Foyet didn’t just know where Haley and Jack were.

By using the Marshal’s phone and feeding her lies to scare her, he’d gotten her to go to him.

 

********

 

Emily kept tapping her foot against the floor, and it was just about driving you insane.  It was a _blessing_ when she was called into the conference room as Spencer stepped out.  Your gaze shifted from the opposite wall to look up at the doctor before shifting right back to the wall.  You couldn’t…

He’d noticed you were having trouble meeting _anyone’s_ gaze.  Then there was that nervous tick you’d picked up.  You weren’t just rubbing your hands together, it was like you were trying to wipe your hands.  Like you could still feel…

He wasn’t allowed to talk to you until after you were questioned, and he _hated_ that.  Why couldn’t you be questioned first?  Or at least allowed to talk to someone who was impartial.

Beyond that door, someone who hated bureaucratic nonsense just as much as Spencer was inside, being questioned by the very section chief who had been hoping to use her as a puppet to investigate the team.

That obviously didn’t end well, for Strauss.

“Agent Prentiss.”

“Ma’am.”

“We understand that Agents Hotchner managed to separate himself from the rest of the team, and [L/N] followed along soon after,” Strauss stated as she paced up and down the side of the table opposite from Prentiss.

“They didn’t ‘manage’ to do that,” Prentiss corrected, sternly remembering just what kind of bureaucratic games Strauss was willing to play, “When Marshal Kassmeyer was in the ambulance – “

“Agent Hotchner volunteered to ride along.”

“To get answers before he lost consciousness.”

“We didn’t feel it was necessary.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Emily had brief smirk when she saw what this show _really_ was, “Is that what this is all about?  A way to blame this on him?  What good could that _possibly_ do?”

“Agent Hotchner was looking for an opportunity to separate himself from the team and he found one,” Strauss pushed, and Emily remained steely.  Cool.  She knew what this was about now, and any nervousness or fear vanished in a flash as it was replaced with anger.

“That isn’t true.”

“He was desperate and he knew that, with her previous career history, Agent [L/N] wouldn’t question him.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” Emily accused, _immediately_ pushing down her desire to go on the offensive, “Or is [L/N] really that much of a stranger to you?”

“Tell me what happened while Agent Hotchner was in the ambulance.”

 

********

 

You caught Anderson on his way to get a car to Hotch and stepped in, telling the agent you would take care of it before you hopped into a car and sped off to the hospital, picking Hotchner up on the way to find Haley and Jack before Foyet could hurt them.  He was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk as he spoke to the rest of the team.  He wasn’t expecting to see you, thought you’d just been quiet on the other end of the line, but now your absence during the call made sense.

He was grateful you were there. 

He couldn’t…he couldn’t take any chances.  Not with Foyet.  Not with his family.

You knew that.

That was _why_ you were there.

You’d already talked about it.  Planned for it.  You weren’t about to back out.

The car skidded to a halt.  You didn’t know everything that was going on, but you did know Hotch was hanging up a call and making another as he got into the passenger’s side door and told you to drive.

You just remained quiet, staring dead ahead.

“If you touch her…”

He was stalling...keeping Foyet on the line long enough to get a trace.  You knew Haley was relocated in Jersey, you’d been with the rest of the team as they were filled in on that much by the U.S. Marshal Service before you grabbed a sedan and took off for the hospital.

_Come on, Garcia, come on._

 

********

 

Morgan had shot you a concerned look before trading places with Emily, your friend risking to stop just long enough to gently rub your shoulder before she made her way back to the BAU.  You were left alone in the hallway, holding your badge when you weren’t _sure_ that blood was still all over your hands, when you weren’t feeling the sheer _brutality_ of what you’d done.

Far more brutal than anything else.

You hadn’t even known you were capable of something like that.

“And you still didn’t know where Foyet was?” Strauss questioned adamantly, determined to find _something._

“The phone belonged to a U.S. Marshal,” Morgan explained, his gaze focused on the tape recorder, “It was designed to bounce between towers so we could not pinpoint his location.”

“And Agents Hotchner and [L/N] were driving around aimlessly.”

 _“No.”_   That kind of accusation, that kind of _blatant_ disregard for the truth was something Morgan wasn’t going to stand for, and he looked up to stare down the section chief in her seat across from him, “They weren’t.  We had Foyet’s profile, and we knew if we followed it, we would know where he took Hotch’s family.”

 

********

 

“Alright, Foyet has to be in control.  He had Haley come to him,” Morgan started off.  There was no time to waste.

“Yeah, but where would he _take_ her?” Reid asked the real question.  How they got there wasn’t nearly as important as _where_ they went.

“He’d want Hotch to find him,” JJ pointed out, “To see where he was, to see what he did.”

“Which means…” Prentiss wasn’t sure where she was going with that.

“He said something on that call that tells Hotch where to go,” Rossi finished, and all eyes turned to Reid.

“Reid, what did he say _exactly_?” Morgan asked, triggering the genius to run through the conversation through his memory at lightning speed.  Admittedly, this was something Rossi had never seen before, and he couldn’t help but shoot a quick look at Morgan before looking back at the genius.

“Open the gate?”

“It would be someplace with the biggest emotional impact for Hotch,” Emily added in the final detail.

“And Haley has access to the gate – “

 _“Their house_ ,” Rossi concluded, “Where they lived _together._ ”

“Left here,” Hotch guided you through the streets, the sedan drifting as you sped around the corner, silently wishing the FBI bought more manual cars as you drove.  Morgan called to say they were on their way, that a full tactical deployment was on the way as well, but you weren’t going to wait.

There was no time for that.

You just had to remain calm.

_Breath.  Calculate.  Act._

Hotch’s cell rang again, and your heart stopped when you heard him answer, “Foyet.”

_Keep calm.  Breath.  Calculate. Act._

_“Aaron?”_

**_Fuck_ **

“Haley, show him no weakness.  No fear.”  Hotch was barely holding together himself.  You knew where you were going, you knew the street and street number, you just…going any faster around a corner would fling the two of you right into a tree.

_“I know.  Sam told me all about him.  Is he uh…”_

“No, Sam is fine.”  That wasn’t true, but as long as he could keep Haley calm…just a bit farther…just a bit farther…

 _“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,_ ” Foyet taunted on the other end of the line, _“Is that why your marriage broke up, because you’re a liar?”_

“Don’t listen to him, Haley.”

_“I have Sam’s service phone right here.  They sent out a mass text about his death.  You can take a look if you want.”_

“He’s trying to scare you.”

_“Did you even tell her what this was about?  About the deal?”_

“He’s just trying to make you angry.”  You knew he was kicking himself for not taking that deal.  For letting this happen.  Just because his conscious mind knew it wasn’t his fault, it was Foyet’s, didn’t mean his subconscious was going to let him off that easy.

_“Well she should be.  She’s gonna…D-I-E because of your inflated ego.”_

He spelled it out.  Jack was _right there._

“Ignore him, Haley.”

_“I’m sure you don’t want her to know this part either.  You know, all he had to do was stop looking for me and you wouldn’t be in this mess.”_

“Don’t react.”

She tried.  She tried not to react.  She tried.

_“What is he talking about?”_

Hotch was quiet for a while as he tried to collect himself, tears had been threatening to fall for minutes now. “Tell Jack I need him working the case.”

_“What?”_

“Tell Jack I need him working the case.”  You couldn’t say you knew what that meant, but Hotch sounded desperate.  It must have been something that would keep Jack safe until you got there.

Haley cleared her throat, _“Jack.  Did you hear that?”_

_“Hi, daddy.”_

“Hi, buddy.”  His composure was falling apart.  You had to get there faster.  You had to do something.  You had to stop this.

_“Is George a bad guy?”_

“Yes, he is…Jack, I need you on this case with me.  Do you understand?  I need you to work the case with me.”  He was desperate, hoping Jack would understand.  Hoping that would still mean something to the young boy.

_“Okay daddy.”_

“Jack, hug your mom for me.”  One last goodbye, even if Jack was too young to realize it.

_“Mommy hug me too tight.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“Why are you sad?”_

_“Oh,”_ she tried to wear a smile for Jack, _“I just love you so much.”_

_“Mommy, I gotta go.  I’m working the case.”_

You heard light footsteps, a child’s footsteps, running further and further away.

_You were almost there.  Almost there._

_“He’s so cute.  He’s like a little Junior G-Man.  I’ll be right up Jackie boy!”_

“Is he gone?”

 _“Yes.”_   Haley was trying to be strong, still holding back her tears as best she could even though she knew.

She knew.

_Almost there.  Just a little further.  A little faster._

“You’re so strong, Haley.  You’re stronger than I ever was.”

_“You’ll hurry, right?”_

_Almost there._

“I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

_Almost…_

_“Neither did you.”_

_…There…_

“I’m sorry for everything.”

_Just a little farther._

_“Promise me that you will tell him how we met.  And how you used to make me laugh._ ”

_Just…_

“Haley…”

_…A little…_

_“He needs to know that you weren’t always so serious, Aaron.  I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him.  Promise me”_

_…Further…_

“I promise.”

**_Bang_ **

**_Bang_ **

**_Bang_ **

 

 

********

 

Morgan sat, despondent, as he knew there was nothing else he could to convince Strauss.  There was nothing else he could do to protect either you or Hotch.  There was nothing else he could do to swear it wasn’t…

“And I don’t know what happened after that…”


	38. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get kinda…gore-ish. Not like bathing in intestines gore, but like…near decapitation.
> 
> Chapter is short, but the last one was long-ish and I wasn’t going to keep things going farther than they had to cause this is kind of a cooldown.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Family

 

The second you heard those gunshots…

All you could think about was that little boy.  You’d only met him once, and all he knew was that you worked with his dad and Morgan.  He saw you there in your FBI vest with your knife and gun at your belt, and somehow…

All he wanted to do was hold your hand, sit with you in the car, you could practically see the little cartoon hearts in his eyes.

After everything you’d done, whatever the reason, this little boy just looked at you with such adoration.  His first crush, formed at an age too young to be influenced by anything more than innocence.

Sitting outside that meeting room, waiting for Morgan to step out and for you to be called inside, you couldn’t help but think back to a conversation you’d had with Emily over a year ago.  About sharing your fear of what you’d become if you ever abandoned logic and acted entirely on emotion.  About what you could do.

 _“I don’t know…I don’t think anyone really knows until they have to experience it, but I do know you,”_ she’d told you as you shared your fears, _“You wouldn’t go that far for just anyone, and they’d have to be an amazing person just for you to give them a chance.”_

You knew now.  You knew what you’d do.

Hotch was finally making his way down the hall, you’d been informed you’d be questioned together – considering the circumstances.  You were on ‘trial’ together.  You were the ones that had been there when it all went to hell.  With everything he’d been through…you had no room to complain.  You couldn’t even _imagine._

You knew what you’d do for the BAU – _your family_ – and their families as well.  You knew you’d do something…

“Agent [L/N], Agent Hotchner.”

You looked up in your seat to see Morgan leaving and you stood up to step inside.

You just had to try and find a way to explain yourself now.

 

********

 

You and Hotch barged into the house, Hotch had abandoned his vest in the ambulance and you hadn’t thought to grab one when you left with a car, Hotch on edge as you were…eerily calm.  Normally you’d be planning, calculating, preparing for any attack but your mind…it was _blank_.  In one hand you held your gun, in the other your knife.  He grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen before heading upstairs while you secured the rest of the downstairs and the basement.

You could never tell with crazed killers like Foyet and you weren’t…

You weren’t thinking.

You’d been in the basement when you heard Hotch’s gun fire, holstering your own gun and dashing up the stairs and followed the commotion into the dining room.  Looking back, they’d both gotten their own shots in.  Foyet took most of the damage, including two shots to his leg, but you weren’t thinking about that.  You just saw Hotch on the ground, Foyet punching him back down as he tried to get back up, and acted.

No breathing.

No calculating.

_Just. Acting._

You remembered kicking Foyet’s knee in, or sideways as it were, and knocking him down before practically slamming your knife into the side of his throat with an angered cry.  None of that was odd.  None of that was anything you’d never had to do before.  It was what you did _after_.

Bleeding out from the throat can take time, thirty seconds to a minute on average, but that wasn’t fast enough as he looked up at you like a cursed intruder he had every intention of punishing.  How _dare_ you.  This wasn’t _your_ game.  You had _no_ part in it.

That was where he was wrong.

They pushed and they prodded, they wormed their way through your walls and guards, and settled themselves into the depths of your heart.

The BAU was your family.

With a second angered cry, you ripped your knife out and ripped the front of his throat open as you threw him onto the ground, your hands, jeans, and shirt all covered in blood.

You and Hotch stayed there, staring for a moment, before Hotch got back to his feet and dashed up the stairs to find Jack.  He had to find Jack.  Foyet hadn’t found him yet.  Jack had to be okay.  He had to be in that chest by the desk in the office.  He had to know.  He had to be okay.

_He was okay._

You stood downstairs, staring at the body at your feet, in a daze.  Had you done that?  Why had you done that?  That was…that was overkill…it was bloody…it was gory…you could see the _bone_ …

This…this was what you would do…

This was what you would do for family…

It was…

_Oh god…_

You felt someone taking the knife out of your hand, looking up to see Rossi gently taking your knife from you and coaxing you back towards the door as Morgan and Emily dashed upstairs to find Hotch.

Morgan found Haley and checked her pulse.  He hoped…he had to try…

_No…_

The first thing Spencer noticed as Rossi led you outside was you looked so… _lost_ , covered in blood…

You never looked that lost, that confused.  He didn’t understand until he went inside with JJ, leaving you sitting on the curb with Rossi, and seeing Foyet’s throat… _ripped_ out for lack of a better description…

It took hours for you to be anything more than despondent, ushering you into a car to go home.  You looked up, meeting eyes with Hotch as he and Jack got into a separate car to leave.  To go…anywhere but there.  He nodded.  You nodded.  He left with Jack.  You were packed into a car and Emily drove you home.

That was…that was it.

 

********

 

“There was nothing I could do for her…” Hotch was still deeply lost.  He managed to keep himself together while Jack was around, but without him, “She was already…”

Strauss paused, putting on her glasses before picking up the file before her and reading over the medical report.  “She died fairly quickly.  One of the wounds severed the aorta, she – “

“You really think that makes any of this better?” you cut her off, aghast that she’d even _think_ of discussing that.  “You think that makes the fact she was murdered by a _monster_ with plans to murder a _child_ any less tragic?”

Strauss paused, shocked you’d even…Hotch was still quiet, solemn.  _Mourning_.

It all boiled down to one question.

“What do you think would have happened if George Foyet had gotten up from that floor?  If he hadn’t been killed?”

 

********

 

The two of you walked down the halls, into the elevator, and back to the sixth floor in a near dead silence.

It wasn’t tense, it wasn’t uncomfortable.  It was just quiet, save for the click of your heels against the tiled floor and the _ding_ of the elevator.

The team was gathered in the meeting room, most of them sitting around the table – sitting with Jack – as they waited.  No words were said, they all turned to the two of you as Jack slipped out of his seat and dashed into his father’s arms, and all of you just stood there.  Together.

You were all wounded, one way or another, but you were together, and whatever happened everything would be okay.

You were _family._


	39. Some Demons Refuse To Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everything with Foyet...it was time to move on. Time to go back to work and catch the bad guys.
> 
> It was something that needed to be done, even if the reawakened demons and shadows in your heart had woken back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Fun. when I wrote most of this. That was after going onto YouTube and binging on clips of the Chuck/Sarah romance on ‘Chuck’
> 
> There’s also an idea for another fic that’s bubbling in the back of my mind, but I wanna get this one done first because – compared to how far we’ve come since the very beginning – we’re SO CLOSE.
> 
> I’m also addicted to the iHeartRadio app…to my defense, my mom was addicted to books and my dad is addicted to music. I come by my two addictions quite honestly.
> 
> Finally, I’d like to apologize for disappearing for a bit. Depression and anxiety issues mixed with a sudden need to continue binging on yet another play of Dragon Age Inquisition. I knew the breakup with my virtual boyfriend was coming, I knew the betrayal was coming, and once again I romanced Solas anyway.
> 
> The next few chapters are basically highlighting – more for Rea than anyone cause I was trying to highlight this long transformation over the last 38 chapters – the change she’d undergone during her time in the BAU.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Some Demons Refuse To Rest

 

The weather had been fitting, the clouds parting and sun shining just long enough for the service itself, but the chill remained and bit at your forearms and legs.  You stood and stared at the stormy gray casket as Hotch delivered the eulogy, keeping composed but pausing every so often as he let the shield of professionalism he normally hid behind crumble and fall.

You carefully held the single white rose in your hands, so delicate in your fingertips, and tears burned your eyes.  You took a deep breath to gather yourself and felt a larger hand take one of your own, and turned your side to look up at Spencer as he comfortably tangled your fingers together, before turning your full attention back to the eulogy.

Later that evening, you were smiling as Jack left to go play with some of his cousins.  If he wasn’t glued to Hotch, he was with his aunt Jessica, if he wasn’t with Jessica the young boy was sticking close to you.  He hadn’t been with any other children his age, and with your training…it would be good for him to at least spend _some_ time with them.

You grabbed a drink before making your way back over to the table, you weren’t hungry but you – like everyone else – needed a drink.

“You’re uh…you’re really good with them – with kids.”  It wasn’t a _great_ place to start a conversation, but with the setting…

You’d been given a few days off after the inquiry, and you’d been a bit scarce as a result.  You hadn’t been talking to much of anyone, so there was no way to gauge how you were really doing.  They all knew you were shaken, frightened of yourself, but didn’t really know where to start.  Telling you that your act of violence was acceptable, a sign you’d opened up enough to die – or worse – for the team, might make you feel like they were just brushing off your struggles.  At least, until now.

“I think it has more to do with his crush on me.”  You were doubtful.  Babies were one thing, as much as you loved Henry you were well aware that he was too young to make an opinion, and Jack wasn’t _every_ kid.  He was just _one_ kid.  A great one that you adored, but still one out of _many._

“It’s not just that, you’re good with the kids we deal with.  You’re kind, you’ll do anything it takes to protect them,” he caught the way you looked up at him, blue eyes wide and starting to gather tears again, “They feel safe around you.”

“That’s really how you see it?”

You knew what he was hinting at – and he was fully aware of that as well – but you just…you still weren’t sure.

“We all do.”

They’d all been wrong before.

 

********

 

It had been an exhausting few days in Lockport, New York, but it was over.  Dale Schrader had been apprehended for murdering a woman named Stacy Ryan, and kidnapping his daughter Jenny on top of that.  That was practically the first thing he’d done after spending 11 years in prison, mostly for thievery and nonviolent crimes.  You and Morgan were driving Jenny to the hospital to meet up with her mom, you’d originally planned to chase Dale down with Morgan and Emily, but Jenny begged you to stay with her, while Emily and Detective Bunting, the local detective who invited the BAU in, were driving Dale Schrader to lockup.  The truck Schrader had been driving was gone…but the worst of it seemed to be over.

It all ended far too easily.

You were sitting in the back of the ambulance with Jenny when you felt the vehicle pull over to the side after Morgan order, “Pull over, that’s one of us, pull over!”

“No, no, please don’t, please stay,” she cried, grabbing your forearm – left bare after you’d wrapped your FBI windbreaker around Jenny to comfort her in the absence of an ambulance with a blanket that wasn’t from the cabin that would haunt the teenage girl’s memories for years.  The EMT sitting in the back with the three of you had offered her a blanket, and she’d silently turned to you as she held your oversized jacket still draped over her shoulders, and after you smiled and nodded, so she denied the blanket and kept the jacket.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you promised, sitting back down next to her on the gurney.  You were terrified for Emily, but Morgan was with her now and you had a job to do.  Whatever happened to land Emily on the side of the road, she was far more equipped to deal with that than Jenny was to deal with being kidnapped by her own father.  Jenny was going to beg you to stay nearby until she was reunited with her mother, and you didn’t have the heart to leave her.

The two of you had to move when Emily joined the two of you in the back, the paramedic checking her pupils as he diagnosed her with a concussion.  Nobody _said_ it aloud, but everyone _knew._

Schrader had escaped with the help of a partner _none_ of you expected.

There was still no clue as to why he killed Stacy Ryan.

There was more to Schrader than you’d profiled, and what you _had_ profiled might just be _all wrong._

You’d managed to get hold of Jenny’s mom, calling her to tell her she needed to pack bags for both her and Jenny to stay at the hospital for the next few days.  After finding out Schrader had escaped, it didn’t take much to get a protective detail on both Jenny and her mother, a handful of uniformed officers that would stay with them at all times and a handful of undercover officers spread throughout the hospital.  It took some persuading to get the doctor to agree to giving Jenny a private room and holding off on her release, but that was before you explained Jenny had already been kidnapped by her father once and he’d just escaped custody.

“You go ahead and hold onto that,” you gently offered as Jenny started to hand your jacket back to you when you’d joined her and her mother in the private room on the top floor of the hospital, “I’ll come back for it when you’re safe again.”

She nodded with a sniffle, upset that you had to leave but trusting you’d get the job done, and looked up to you with a shaky smile – understandable considering what she was _still_ going through – and gave an honest, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you answered with a soft smile, giving her mother one last look and sharing a nod before you left for the precinct to reconnect with the rest of the team, catching up with Morgan in the hall as you finished tying your hair into a messy bun.  “How is she?”

“Wants to get back to work, thought she fired three times,” Morgan answered simply, in a rush but unsurprised that Emily wanted to jump up and rush after the bad guy even after she’d been in such a bad accident.  He’d give her that cognitive interview she asked for when she wasn’t so shaken she clearly remembered she’d emptied her clip.

“Classic Em,” you weren’t surprised either, “But she’s right.  We need to find Schrader quickly, we don’t know what he’s willing to do to get Jenny back.”

No arguments there.

“I’ll stay here, keep an eye on her.”

“Alright, I’ll get back to the others,” you let out a light sigh and joked, though you were _still_ a bit angry over it, “I leave my partner unattended too long and he gets his dumbass shot in the _knee_.”

“You ever letting him live that down?”

“Not a chance.”

 

********

 

By the time you made it back to the precinct, it was admittedly just down the street from the hospital but you’d taken a few moments to get some decent coffee for everyone to kick-start what was bound to be a long night – maybe even _days_ – with real caffeine instead of whatever was in the coffee found in _every_ level of law enforcement, they’d already started over on building the profile.

It was the only way to get this solved, starting over completely.

You already knew the basics they’d started with.  Schrader completed a few bank heists with some others, but he was the only one to actually go to prison for them.  He spent 11 years out of his 15-year sentence and was let out on good behavior, and any friends he still had were dead or still in prison.  That was why you’d all agreed he was working alone.  You started handing out cups of coffee – the team spent so much time together you’d all long-since memorized each other’s coffee orders through sheer repetition – and handed out coffee cups as you joined in.

“A three-ton truck was found north of the accident,” Rossi filled you, Spencer, and Hotch in on the recent development, “Not too far from Canada.”

“We have the heaviest presence at border crossings, he probably knows that,” Spencer mentioned, neither denying the truck was Schrader’s nor assuming it.  It easily could be, but you’d _all_ been wrong about Schrader already and it put Emily in the hospital and killed a cop.

“Even so, I doubt he’s planning on _sitting still_ ,” you added, holding your coffee in both hands and jumping right back into the case.

“He might _have_ to, depending on how injured he is.”  Spencer wasn’t wrong, he rarely ever was, and none of you had any idea what kind of shape Schrader was in after the car crash.  The collision had killed the detective outright, left Emily shaken and dazed with a concussion, but there was no evidence regarding the unsub’s injuries.

“Maybe, maybe not.  He did walk away from the crash, and he does have a partner that’s a _complete_ unknown.  We’re practically flying blind,” you pointed out, just as uncomfortable with all the unknowns as everyone else.  As easy as it would be to let you and Spencer just discuss the case at length – letting the two of you do just that had resulted in the case being solved _more_ than once – Rossi was aware there just wasn’t enough to let the two of you _do_ that just yet.

“What do we know?”

“Dale Schrader went to prison for robbery.  He was hands off.  All of his crimes were impersonal,” Hotch listed off in his seat at the table, where he’d been trying to make sense of it all, even grabbed a notepad and pen to scribble things down in hopes _something_ would snap into place.  “ _Two days_ after he’s released, he kills Stacy Ryan an h kidnaps his daughter.  It’s both personal and emotional.”

“When he’s not attached to the crime, he pulls it off, but the minute he’s invested – like with his daughter – he lets his guard down, he gets caught, that makes sense,” Spencer highlighted the Schrader’s level of ability with the two different types of crimes, “Did Jenny know anything?”

“No,” you shook your head as you sighed at the memory of breaking the news to her and her mother, “She and Schrader were alone the entire time.”

“So,” Rossi reached a conclusion that directly contradicted the original profile, “He’s not the hard-ass we thought he was.”

“Great, but that still doesn’t answer why he didn’t leave with Jenny like we thought he did,” you brought up the elephant-sized question that was still left unanswered.  You’d _all_ thought Schrader left for Canada the second he had Jenny, you’d all thought you were _too late_ in getting a bigger presence along the border crossing.  Based on the timeline, he had plenty of time to get into Canada and far enough away from the border that he wouldn’t be caught.  So, why the hell didn’t he do that?  “He had plenty of time to get into Canada before we had a heavy presence along the border and that was what made the most sense.  He might be fumbling through these more personal crimes, but he’s not _stupid._ ”

“Pictures from the accident,” JJ rushed out from the office she was using to work with the local and international media to get Schrader’s face _everywhere_ to get the four of you photographs of the crash.  There was no guarantee that it would help, but it couldn’t _hurt_ either.  There was no time to think about that in detail, especially since she was still managing things on her end.

“Any word on Emily?” Hotch asked as he picked up one of the photos to get a closer look.

“Apparently she’s arguing with the doctors.”

“Oh, good,” you mused as you looked over a few of the photos yourself, “She’ll be just fine, then.”

“This took a lot to pull off, what if he’s got a group of guys to call on?” Rossi suggested, you all knew Schrader had at least _one_ partner you didn’t know about.  Who was to say there weren’t more people involved?

“I agree,” Spencer further explained, “All those bank jobs were solo, but this is a lot for one man to orchestrate.”

“That’s true, but we can’t rule out the fact that _anything_ is possible with the right contacts.  They might not even be directly or deeply involved, beyond getting him the resources he needs.”  You reached for your coffee, already growing _mentally_ exhausted.  You’d thought it was _all over_ and then the entire team was thrown for a loop.

“Figured out why he killed Stacy Ryan?” JJ questioned, it was _still_ the big question none of you could seem to answer.

“We still haven’t found any connection to Schrader,” Spencer answered as he looked through some of the photos of the crash, looking for something that might lead to answers or clues, “But he may be connected to the partner.”

“How?”

“Killing her might have been advance payment for breaking him out of custody,” Spencer threw out one suggestion of _many_ possible theories none of you had exactly agreed on.

“Garcia,” Hotch was already on top of that, having dialed the number to Garcia’s office into the desk phone, “I need everything you’ve got on Stacy Ryan.”


	40. The Only Obvious Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially - as of last chapter - over 100,000 words. I googled books that are less than 100,000 words, just to see how much effort I'd put into this. Threw me for a loop.
> 
> So, I just got back from lunch with my dad and realized we kind of have a weird soft-spot for the local Red Robin. It’s a really depressing reason why – basically, when mom’s nursing home called to tell me she died (my parents split when I was like 12 so I was mom’s main contact/caretaker until she went into a vegetative state cause brain cancer is a straight-up c**t) I was still in school and called dad to let him know cause that would change a bunch of stuff for my little sister and he suggested getting something to eat. So, we went to the Red Robin in town. To this day, it’s still the only time I didn’t take anything home in a box.  
> Anywho, by complete accident, our ‘usual’ switched from a local diner to the local Red Robin.
> 
> Kind of a weird situation, though, cause mom went kinda nuts – cause brain cancer – and threw a fit if either me or my sister spent time with dad outside of the designated visitation hours, so I can’t exactly say dad and I are close. He’s super religious and I’m really not. That’s HARDLY the only issue, but it’s a pretty big one.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Only Obvious Thing

 

 _“Stacy Ryan had two times in her life; when she was high, and when she was waiting to get high,”_ Penny filled the rest of you in with what she’d already found at the beginning of the case.  It was standard practice to look into the victims’ life to try and figure out _why._ “The only thread I have between them is that her brother spent time with Schrader upstate like…five years ago.”

“Why would Schrader kill a junkie?” Hotch asked, looking up at you, Spencer, and Rossi to see if any of you had any ideas, and you had nothing.  It just didn’t make sense.  “Where’s the brother now?”

_“Dead.”_

“It doesn’t feel like Schrader does anything randomly, Stacy must have meant something to him.”  Hotch was right, the core mistake in the profile was overlooking Stacy’s murder.  You all had to rush to find Jenny, that was absolutely correct, but in the process you’d _all_ overlooked the other victim.

_“Yeah but…what?”_

“She could have been an asset.  Got him something he needed for whatever he’s planning, and once she was no longer useful, she became a liability and he killed her,” you suggested, arms lazily crossed with one hand holding your half-empty coffee cup.  It was hardly an idea you hadn’t dealt with before, that was what happened to about _90%_ of the murder victims you’d dealt with in your old job and you doubted international criminals were the only ones to come up with the idea.

“But, what did she have that Schrader would need?”  Rossi made a good point.  It was common for junkies to have information – a _lot_ of information – just based on the fact that they were normally _ignored._   The problem was, it was doubtful that Stacy Ryan had any information that could be useful.

“It might be something her brother left for Schrader.”

You were _really_ hoping Spencer was wrong about that.

If he was right, you could forget about being up shit creek without a paddle.

You wouldn’t even have a goddamn _boat_.

 

********

 

Two hours later and while JJ got Schrader’s face all over the news, the rest of you still hadn’t gotten anywhere until Emily – thankfully – returned to the rest of you.  She had a slight limp, had gauze wrapped around her upper forearm, and looked a little worse for wear, but considering she’d been hit by a three-ton truck she was doing much better than most would in her situation.

“Garcia,” she said as she took the seat offered to her, putting her cell on speaker, “Tell everyone what you just told me.”

_“I have unearthed more of Schrader’s past.  Now, what we do know is that he robbed 15 banks in the state of New York in the 90’s.  However, what your resident glamour-puss smarty-pants just found out was that most of that money was never recovered.”_

“Where is it?”  Spencer was thinking it could have been stashed in a bank account, maybe even under a different name.

_“My best guess, only he knows.”_

“Good reason to stick around Lockport,” Rossi verbally cemented the conclusion you’d _all_ made, Schrader was sticking behind for the rest of the money he’d stolen and hidden away.

“The last robbery, the one that put him away,” JJ brought up Schrader’s criminal history, “It should have been routine, so what happened?”

“Maybe someone turned him in,” Morgan suggested, a suggestion that could lead to finding out who the partner was.

_“He kept to himself, always worked alone.  Who’d turn him in?”_

“Whoever it was…”  You leaned forward and braced yourself by placing your hands on the table, “They’re capable of completely _vanishing_.”

 

********

 

 _“Okay, records leading up to Schrader’s arrest show this one bank robber named Dan Otey,”_ Penny filled the rest of you in on what she was finding while she continued to search, _“And he was looking at copious amounts of time, then he strikes a deal, and all of a sudden Schrader is arrested.”_

“It _can’t_ be a coincidence,” Rossi stressed the oddity of what Garcia had found.  The team had come across some pretty freakish coincidences, but there was _no_ way this was one of them.

“You know, it’s not uncommon for criminals to buy jobs off one another,” Spencer proposed the connection between _Dan Otey_ , and potentially Schrader’s partner, “Maybe that’s what Schrader did, but Dan Otey sold him out for a lesser sentence.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” JJ countered, not immediately arguing but reminding the rest of you of the wrench in the theory, “Otey was a rat and now he’s a partner?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Spencer admitted thoughtfully, mind racing to try and find an explanation, “Schrader wouldn’t trust him, if anything he’d want him dead.”’

“Might not be willing, he killed Stacy Ryan and kidnapped his own daughter, he’s clearly not above blackmail.”  You _hated_ what you were about to use for evidence of the idea, but it was the only thing that made sense.  “If he was, he’d be more willing to let Schrader kill Emily as well as Detective Bunting, maybe even pull the trigger himself, but instead he just stuffed Schrader into the truck and took off.”

“He gets out, tells Otey he owes him one, and that he _might_ save his life if he helps him get out of this jam,” Morgan proposed a potential theory behind Schrader’s partnership with Otey.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Emily was hesitant to agree to that _exact_ theory, “But what’s keeping Otey from slamming the door in Schrader’s face?”

Hotch cut in, if he let the rest of you continue to shoot theories around, you’d end up talking in circles.  If you were going to come up with something, you needed more information.  “Where’s he now, Garcia?”

_“Uh…Dan Otey is local, lives off of Route 7”_

 

********

 

“I’m going on a limb and guessing Dan Otey isn’t the partner,” you heaved a heavy sigh as you dropped the white sheet back over Dan Otey’s body, standing up from your crouch to talk with Spencer and JJ as she joined the two of you.

“His wife and son were home…” JJ had just returned from speaking to the two witnesses, both of them shaken and scarred from the event.

“Are they okay?” Spencer furrowed his brow in honest concern.  The team was already just short of flying blind and it was bad enough that Schrader had already killed one person – criminal or not – while you were struggling to keep up.

“The partner took them upstairs while Schrader destroyed the place.”  JJ was able to at least offer that consolation, though that didn’t exactly _help_ as you all hoped it would, “Emily is with the wife right now.”

“This is making less and less sense by the minute, and I am getting sick of being two steps behind this bastard,” you huffed as you tucked your hands into the pockets of the old black leather jacket you’d thrown over the white V-neck you’d lazily tucked into your black pants.  You’d taken your hair out of the messy bun to braid it, but a few strands were already falling loose around your face.

You were all tired, you were all stressed, but Spencer was…well…

He was always worried about you.

You put on a brave face, you let yourself wallow for a bit before shoving everything back down.  You were still scared, still in _shock_ , and still _lost_.  You knew _exactly_ who and what you were for _years_ , MI6 had given you that identity and while whatever made you leave caused it to waver, your years in the BAU and more recent events had caused it to… _shatter_.  It was for the best, it was, because there was something _else_ hiding behind the calculating spy.  There was a guardian, a protector, an artist with a romantic and passionate heart, a scarred girl who just wanted to make the world a better place one person at a time.

For whatever reason, you’d been forced to shove all of that behind a wall of solid ice and keep yourself guarded, but now that the wall had officially crumbled…now that you’d let the team in past all your wards…

You’d forgotten what that was like…assuming you ever really knew…

“You could _not_ be more obvious.”  JJ barely managed to wait until she and Spence were alone, outside the house while you called Hotch to give an update and Emily questioned Otey’s wife.  Honestly, there was a point where it was _too much._   The puppy eyes, the lingering smile, his comfort in having you close – _invading his personal space_ – to the point he’d actively seek it out.  It was sweet for a while, so sweet, and JJ couldn’t _wait_ for the day you’d make the inevitable tumble.  She’d liked the idea of you and Spence together for a while, though she’d been cautious when Garcia came to her with your extensive file, but after becoming friends with you she’d come to like it even more.

Now…well…she mostly just wanted to _make sure_ the genius was _aware_ of the fact he’d fallen for you.

“What?”  Reid had no idea what JJ was talking about, but to be fair she had caught him off guard.

“You’re _crazy_ about her,” JJ couldn’t help but tease, “On three different cases I’ve been asked if there was anything between the two of you.  I lied, so they wouldn’t ask [Y/N] out, and when I told Hotch about it he didn’t say _a word._ ”

_Dammit…_

It took a moment for Spencer to start breathing again before he tried to explain, “I…I know it’s just, we work together – we do practically _everything_ together – and she just, it’s not – “

“It’s complicated, and if she does feel the same she’s doing a hell of a job of hiding it,” JJ offered some understanding as she cut Spencer off, your call wouldn’t last forever and she wanted to make sure to tell him this, “But if she doesn’t now, she will.”

Spencer looked back over your way, where you were finishing up your call and tucking your phone into the back pocket of your pants before grabbing the car keys from your jacket pocket.  He couldn’t help the small smile when he saw you, but it didn’t last.  “You seem pretty sure of that.”

 _He’d_ never been that sure.  Maybe at the beginning, when you were a pretty girl at a flower stand, but as he got to know you…Spencer became more and more aware of the fact that you just.  He had a place as your friend, your co-worker, but anything more…he didn’t know…

JJ followed Spence’s line of sight, shrugging casually out of confidence.

“I’m a mom, we know these things.”


	41. Anything For Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going through and checking for typos on occasion. The e,d,c,#/3 keys on my keyboard are getting kinda bitchy and sometimes they don't work. I normally catch it, but if I'm in a rush I'll miss it.
> 
> Just felt like giving that warning.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Anything For Family

 

You’d made a little progress.  For starters, the partner was just as much of a dominant personality as Schrader, but he was _protective_ of Otey’s family.

It was four hours since the crash, bets were Emily wasn’t still in shock, so she and Morgan had borrowed an office for a cognitive interview.

It only confirmed what you’d all feared.

“So, how did Schrader get this guy to sign on?” Emily asked as she, Morgan, and Rossi got more bad coffee from the pot, mixing sugar or creamer as they pleased.  None of you had slept since before being called onto the case.

“Good people do bad things.  I’m just saying, it happens.”  Rossi had seen _a lot_ of that in his life.

“Right but…” Emily knew good people do bad things, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was the case this time, “This partner wouldn’t let me die.  He protected Otey’s family.  In the same day he helped a convicted felon escape custody.  His loyalties are all over the place.”

“The guy sounds desperate,” Morgan agreed, it wasn’t making any sense, “Maybe he needed some money.  I mean, Schrader’s got a lot of it still out there, he could have promised him a cut.”

“Ah…I dunno, he’s an accomplice to three murders and a kidnapping.  Is there enough money for _you_ to sign on for something like that?” Emily countered, almost putting off taking that first sip of coffee.  She could never decide if it was better to let it burn her mouth or to taste the brew packaged and sold in bulk to offices.  There are a lot of things that were just the same bought in bulk – not that Emily ever _needed_ to go shopping at Costco – but _coffee_ was not one of them.

“So, it’s something bigger than the money,” Rossi reasoned, far too tired to shrug.  This wasn’t the most exhausting case Rossi had ever worked – _far from it_ – but it was certainly up there.

“Maybe Schrader’s threatening him,” Emily proposed a more _specific_ blackmail scenario.  _Information_ on the partner didn’t seem like it would be enough to get him to help with… _this._

“Leverage?”

“It would have to be _big._ ”

“We caught Schrader because he kidnapped his daughter,” Hotch jumped in from where he was leaning back against the table, trying to make any sense of it, “He was emotional, and his guard was down.  Clearly, family means more to him than we thought.”

“Schrader’s ex-wife forced him to give up custody of Jenny…maybe he wants this guy to feel what it’s like to lose his family too.”  Emily finally felt like the team was on the right track.

“Sounds like revenge.”  Morgan was right, revenge was clearly something Schrader had been planning for a while, maybe even since he was arrested.

“Maybe it is…”

 

********

 

Well…

That had been useless.

You and Spencer had left for the hospital, you’d sat with Jenny’s mother while Spence gave the teen a cognitive interview in hopes she’d recall something.  She _had_ , but it didn’t give any information you didn’t already have.  She still did well, and you were sure to tell her that, but you and Spencer were left shooting off any potential theory in the hopes that _something_ would stick.

You didn’t have _much._   It was clear this whole thing was about _revenge_ to Schrader, he wanted to _right past wrongs_.  Even kidnapping Jenny was correcting something in his mind, as he was forced to give up all parental rights.  The others had called Spencer to give the two of you an update, so you could hit the ground running when you got back.  Schrader was looking for vengeance, and he was doing that by _forcing_ someone to become his partner.  Someone who had helped put him into prison.

You did _not_ envy JJ, once again outside with a gaggle of reporters.  You and Spencer decided to wait in the car until they’d cleared, just behind the liaison as she practically stormed inside with heightened frustrations.

You could already sense the night out with the girls…here’s to hoping Penny didn’t have time to look up drink recipes again.  That _Blue Queen_ just about killed _you_ , and you had a much higher tolerance than the other girls.

“Any progress on the Schrader case?” JJ requested an update as the three of you joined the rest of the team, most of them gathered around a table covered in new files while Emily took another look at the case board.

“The usual suspects.”  Rossi didn’t even look up from the papers he was looking over, completely aware that if he looked back up all the words would blend together if he tried to go back to reading over it, “Judge, lawyers.”

“They’re all accounted for this morning.”  Morgan was looking through one of the _many_ legal documents involved to try and find _someone_ that could have been missed.

“If it’s revenge, then it’s gotta be someone who put him away.”  Spencer took a seat at the table while you made your way around to stand between the board and the table, flipping through a few of the new files before double-checking that there was nothing new on the board.  You spotted the little light on the desk phone and could hear the faint clacking of someone typing on the keyboard on the other end.  Something like this, you’d need Garcia right there and ready to go _immediately_.

“Well, it’s not the officers who arrested him or the judge who sentenced him,” Hotch further narrowed down the list, leaning forward in his seat at the table, running through _everyone_ involved in a criminal proceeding from investigation to sentencing.

“Then who is it?” Emily breathed the question, needing to find the man that saved her life while he was forced to do awful things to protect his family.

“Someone involved in the investigation?  Someone he had a lot of contact with,” you suggested, too anxious to sit as you started flipping through a file.

“Garcia, I need the names of every law enforcement agent involved in the Schrader case,” Hotch requested, and you immediately heard the typing picking up speed.

_“You know everybody.”_

“Yeah, but I want every single employee the year that he was arrested.”  Hotch was going out on a limb, one he was fully aware might snap.  Whoever this man was could have left the department in the last 11 years.  It was a long shot, but it would only take a matter of minutes and there was no harm in making sure.

_“Ok, give me a minute.”_

“A whole minute?” Morgan couldn’t help the small smile, hoping to raise Garcia’s spirits as you were _all_ running on empty and she was starting to sound uncharacteristically snappish.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t snap, it was just odd for her to snap over getting an extended list of people – even if there was a lot of overlap from a previous list she’d gotten for the rest of you.  She’d been trapped in the office – most of that time spent in her office – without much sign of sun or society in _days_.  That was murder for an extrovert like her.  “Come on, baby girl.  What, are you losing your touch?”

 _“Oh, watch your pretty mouth.”_   She wasn’t at 100% - _none_ of you were going to be for a while – but her mood was still noticeably raised.  _“Personal records coming at you now.”_

A nearby officer had grabbed the personnel files remotely printed off for the team, taking them straight to the area sectioned off for the team, and Spencer took them before he immediately started reading his way through each one.

“Who’s still active?” Hotch asked while Spencer kept flipping through the pages.

“Most.”

“Would he risk using an active officer?” JJ questioned, recognizing that you were dealing with a calculated con who would know just how risky that was.

Rossi had stopped reading through the file and sat back, in his seat when he realized he wasn’t so much _reading_ as _staring_ at the page.  “Depends on how much he hates them.  Is anyone retired?”

“Yeah, two of them.”  Spencer had already made his way through the personnel sheets, flipping back through to find the two in question, “Let’s see – Matt Massey, Jeff Messick.  Both married with kids, white, in their 50’s.”

“Wait, can I see those pictures?”  Emily reached across the table as Spencer handed them to her, everyone hoping that Emily would recognize one of them.  “No…no.”

Emily placed the pages back down as you all realized that would have been _far_ too easy.  That’s just now how cases were for the BAU – at least not for _your_ team – and it certainly wouldn’t be how _this_ case worked.  She huffed in frustration, “Why _wouldn’t_ he go after one of the officers who arrested him?  It makes the most sense for revenge.”

“Unless there’s someone else who betrayed him,” you offered, something Spencer had brought up on the drive back from the hospital popping back into your mind.

“Right, he went after Otey for turning him in,” Spencer jumped in, the two of you had just been talking about this and he’d only just _mentioned_ it as a possibility, “He could have viewed his loss of parental rights a betrayal by his ex-wife.”

“You guys might be onto something, listen to this,” Morgan jumped in, finally finding _something_ in those damn documents that could solve this case as he handed the stapled papers in question to Hotch, “There was a witness who never testified on Schrader’s behalf.”

“Schrader could see that as a betrayal.  He gets out of prison and uses him to get what he wants.,” Hotch agreed as he took the packet and skimmed the first page, “Garcia, I want you to run a history on a witness from the Schrader case, Joey Short.”

“Generic name,” you couldn’t help but comment.  It was just a skip away from _John Smith_ or _Mike Miller_ , just _short_ of being so generic it was unbelievable.

_“Joey Short…born in ’66 in NYC, didn’t hold a lot of jobs except for construction, in and out of rehab.”_

“Where is he now?”  Morgan sat forward to get up and go, ready to take off and find Joey Short if he was still in the area.

_“His last known address was 10 years ago.”_

“Did he do time?” Rossi jumped on the most logical conclusion, especially considering the kind of company it was safe to assume Short kept.

_Mm-mm.  No.”_

“Come on, Garcia,” Morgan urged the technical analyst to find _something_ , “People don’t just disappear.”

“ _Real_ people don’t,” you countered immediately as a harrowing realization clicked in your mind and caused a rush of anxiety to rain down your spine, “False identities _do_.”

“He was undercover,” Hotch surmised as the pieces fell into place – _finally_.

“That makes sense,” Emily agreed, partially pulling on her own experience from undercover work and experience from dealing with undercover cops before, “Those guys are up for anything, and they take big risks, professionally and personally.”

“Locals don’t have the kind of funding or need for detailed files like federal or international agents, when an identity is shot, they just _drop_ it instead of killing it off,” you added on your own experience.  You’d had at _least_ three different false identities killed off during your time in MI6.

 _Four_ including your _actual_ identity…though you weren’t sure if that counted.  It wasn’t the _first_ time that identity was killed off, but it _was_ the one that _stuck._

_Hopefully._

“Explains his behavior too, good guy doing bad things.”  The behavioral aspect was the part that had been bothering Spencer the most.  Good people were always capable of doing bad things, but that didn’t mean they’d be able to keep their wits about them while bad people did bad things.  Schrader shot Otey through the door, then broke in, and the partner managed to stay calm and scare Otey’s wife and child into hiding.  Schrader had already choked the detective, but the partner managed to push Schrader away from killing Emily too.

“Garcia, can you get us Joey Short’s real name?”  Morgan knew just what he was asking.  It wasn’t going to be easy.

_“It’s not here.”_

“Well, if Schrader can find it, so can we,” Morgan coaxed Garcia back into the game, “The guy needed to be Schrader’s friend, so they’re probably around the same age.  Look for academy graduates in the early nineties.”

“What graduates disappeared?” you asked soon after, “Agents and officers chosen for undercover are picked right out of the academy.  He would have graduated by necessity, but he wouldn’t have started working in the force, disappeared around the same time Joey Short appeared.  Then he met Schrader, gained Schrader’s trust, and got out around the time Schrader was arrested.”

_“Okay.  Here’s a couple of guys look like they dropped out.”_

“You got any pictures?”

_“Sending them your way now.”_

Garcia had sent a jpeg of the photo to the open FBI issue laptop on the table, and Emily _immediately_ took a look.

“That is the guy.  That picture is 10 years old, but that’s him.”


	42. You'll Be Just Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the freckles fading thing. I used to have really obnoxious noticable, but they legit faded as I got older. IDK why, but it happens sometimes.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### You'll Be Just Fine

 

Joe Muller, he had a wife and two kids.

_All of them were missing._

Schrader was absolutely bold enough to hide everything in a safety deposit box, but with his face everywhere he couldn’t get within fifty feet of a bank.  _Muller_ , on the other hand, would absolutely be able to go into a bank and get the cash – as long as he had the key.  You didn’t have the physical evidence from the Schrader case, there was no need for it and going through it was deemed a waste of time when the case first started, but now it could lead to the location of the cash.

You were all so close – _so close_ – and then it all fell apart in _two minutes._

In unprecedented leaps and bounds you’d caught up to Schrader, who was sitting in the parking lot waiting for Muller who’d just retrieved the key to the safety deposit box from physical evidence, and tried to hold the ex-cop hostage with a gun do his head.

Now Muller was pacing back and forth inside the precinct, nervously holding a cup of coffee he hadn’t touched and filling all of you in on what had happened to his life – to his _family_ – in the last few days.

“The only person that knew where my family is, and now he’s dead.”  He’d had a chance to calm down after his initial burst of anger towards Emily, who had been the one to shoot Schrader.  He knew how law enforcement was trained, he knew her training dictated she take that shot, and he knew she couldn’t have known just how precarious the situation surrounding his family’s safety was.  He was _angry_ , he’d spent the last two days angry, and that wouldn’t stop until his family was safe.  “I had every chance to kill him, but I couldn’t.  Because he had my family.  Two days.  _Somewhere._ ”

The polaroid he’d been given as _proof of life_ had been passed around the team, landing in Emily’s hand.  She’d placed herself at the side of the table opposite of Muller from _guilt_ , not fear, as she’d learned just what Schrader’s death meant.  “And this photograph is the only proof of life?”

“Where’s my phone?” Muller asked, his things had been processed and _officially_ he’d been released into the team’s custody, but the chances of him being charged with anything were slim.  It would all be pinned on Schrader, and Muller would be considered yet another victim in all of it.  He _might_ be charged, but that would most likely end in both the Judge deciding bail and the jury to rule in his favor by default.

_That was hardly anyone’s concern at the moment._

Morgan pointed to the pile of things processed when they’d brought Muller into the precinct, and the former undercover rushed to grab it and put his phone on speaker to replay the voicemail his wife had left.

_“Joe, honey, it’s me.  He got us.  All of us.  I don’t know where we are.  God, I am so sorry.”_

_“Help us daddy!”_

Out the corner of your eye, you caught Hotch first look aside before turning away entirely.  It didn’t take a profiler to know just what was running through his mind.  That phone call in the car, his last words to Haley, those three gunshots…

He was still mourning, would be for a long time, but he knew he couldn’t just sit and wallow in his loss.  It wasn’t good for him.  It wasn’t good for _Jack._   He knew that, so he went back to work.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

_“Please just do whatever he says.”_

“I’ll get Garcia to trace this.”  Morgan picked up the phone after the recording ended, looking it over a bit as he prepared to step out and make the call while the rest of you continued to talk to Muller.

“Unknown name, unknown number.”

“She might be able to help,” Morgan reassured before he left to make the call.

“There was only one phone call?” JJ jumped right back into the series of questions, gathering information you’d all need to solve the case.  There was no time to waste before, but now you all knew just how urgent things really were.

“I – I tried to get him to let me talk to them again, but he wouldn’t.”

“There must not be anyone watching them.”

“So,” Rossi started narrowing down the places Muller’s family could be hidden, sitting on the table to fa Muller as he paced back and forth, “He hid a family where no one hears them call for help.”

“Some place remote.  That cabin?” Spencer proposed, it was the only place Schrader had access to.  At least, the only place you _knew_ of – though it likely wasn’t anywhere Muller knew about.

“No,” Emily sighed, “Locals tore it apart, there’s no one there.”

“It could be somewhere nobody _cares_ ,” you added, arms crossed in an attempt to keep from fiddling with your ponytail once again, “Plenty of buildings and complexes filled with junkies or other criminals who will just ignore it or tell them to shut up.”

As worried as you were about Hotch, you could only make a note to snatch a bottle from the jet’s bar – you’d made sure to stash a bottle of Irish whiskey on the bottom shelf towards the back – and offer it to everyone on board.  This was a long and stressful case for _everyone_ , but for a few people it was hitting a few personal buttons.

Granted, it wasn’t the _best_ Irish whiskey available, but if you _could_ imagine spending $2,000 on a bottle of imported whiskey _literally_ older than you, you _certainly_ wouldn’t be _leaving it on the jet._

“You saw Schrader since he’s had your family,” Hotch regained his composure and threw himself back into the case, “You saw something, or heard it, there’s gotta’ be some clue.”

“When was the last time you saw your family?” Emily asked, gently, as she saw the emotions Muller was struggling with.  Guilt, frustration, helplessness, fear, anger…

The memory of the last time he saw his family flashed through his eyes, and Muller froze.

“You notice any cars on the street?” Hotch asked, trying to get _something_ that would find them.

“Nothing…” Muller took a breath as he recalled his own training, knowing what you’d need.  “Our routines the same every day.  The kids have to be at school by 8:15, then Molly heads to work.”

“She didn’t make it either yesterday – “ Spencer spoke quietly, quickly, as his brain continued churning while he briefly thought aloud, before asking, “What was her route?”

“Uh, north on route 7, east on 22.”

“Is that route isolated on the morning commute?” Rossi was almost hoping it was, it could at least point in the _direction_ of a lead.  At the moment, all you had was that they were taken on route to the school.

“No.”

“I don’t think that matters,” you chimed in with an unfortunate truth, “The house and driveway are secluded, Schrader would know that’s the best place to strike.”

Muller froze as he realized exactly what allowed Schrader to take his family.

“I drove out first…I just left them there…”

“But where did he find you?”  Spencer was looking for something, even just two points could narrow things down.  It wasn’t the ideal approach, but it was better than nothing.

“At the…hardware store…” Muller was getting anxious just recalling that incident, speaking faster and still holding his coffee cup tucked against his chest like a security blanket, “He told me how, for 11 years, he’d ben trying to figure out how he got locked up.  He knew Otey had ratted him out for the robbery, but that wasn’t enough to put him away.  He said I was the piece that didn’t fit.  He figured out I was a cop.”

“And he took your family…”  Something you’d brought up when this mess began started rattling around in Hotch’s mind.  Schrader killed Stacy Ryan for a _reason_ , and you’d suggested that she knew _something_ – maybe even got him something – and became a liability.  The agent grabbed the photo of the first murder victim and held it up for Muller, “Did you ever see this woman?”

“Yeah, I think she’s some junkie, I saw her right after he told me.”  Muller clearly recalled Stacy’s murder.  The few moments leading up to it, the location, driving off in fear for his family’s safety –

_“You know what he’s doing?  Huh?  You know what’s in here?”_

“He dumped the body somewhere else when it would have been easier to dump her into the garbage bin nearby, she threatened to destroy his entire plan, which all hung on Muller cooperating.  He would have known we would canvas the area if he’d left her there,” you listed off the pieces of the puzzle as they clicked into place.  You could almost _hear_ the resounding clicks of a computer jigsaw puzzle.  “He didn’t want us anywhere _near_ there.”

“Where was it?” Emily asked, everyone was on edge, waiting for something to go on, ready to launch out of building and into the cars.

“Uh, south of Van Wyck.”

“Bad area?” Rossi asked, as much as you all wanted to rush out and get the family you had to _be sure._

“Abandoned, junkies took over.”

“Perfect place to leave hostages,” Spencer looked away from Muller and to the rest of you.

“You need to take us back there,” you reached into the pocket of your leather jacket, draped over the back of one of the chairs, and grabbed the keys to one of the cars, “That’s where your family is.”

 

********

 

“You need to stay here,” you’d just barely managed to cut Hotch off and talk to him in private, “The Reaper is still rattling around in your head, if we’re too late being there will break you.”

Hotch huffed, but you were right.  He wasn’t…he hadn’t been sure about going himself, to be honest.  “What about you?”

“I killed a monster, Hotch, that’s just part of the job,” you brushed it off, securing your vest before heading out with Morgan, Emily, and Muller to the apartment building filled with junkies and – hopefully – Muller’s family.  You had your own issues, you were still working through some things, but you had a job to do and you weren’t about to start taking _everything_ personally.

The building was a dump, and the first junkie you’d run into didn’t know anything.  The rest were either unconscious or just staring off into the distance.  You went from room to room after splitting up, Molly being found in a drugged daze, open puncture wounds at the crook of her elbow large and angry like she’d struggled and fought against whoever was silencing her.

“The kids…I’m sorry…” she struggled to communicate as Muller held her, telling her she was going to be alright before leaving her with JJ.

One of the boys was found curled up in a corner, hugging his legs as he hid behind his knees.  Even your FBI vest and crouching down to try and coax him to you didn’t help, he only responded when Muller came into the room to carry him out.  The second was left to wander the hall, too young to know he was really in danger, and Emily’s smile was enough to convince the young boy to let her pick him up and carry him to his parents.

 

********

 

It was a happy ending, overall, but there was still something you needed to do.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you,” you smiled as you saw Jenny and her mother stepping out of the hospital as you arrived, “I take it one of the officers told you it’s…over.”

“They said he’s dead,” Jenny answered before her mother could, shifting a bit awkwardly – nervously – as she still held your FBI jacket in her arms.  You quietly asked if you could have a moment alone with Jenny, waiting for the _okay_ before you coaxed the teenage girl over to a nearby bench and sat down with her.  You took a deep breath and prepared yourself, about to tell this young girl more about your past than…anyone.

“My father was a very bad man, he hurt and killed people for money.  I didn’t know the details until I was only a year or two older than you,” you spoke softly as you offered a sort of common ground with Jenny, causing her to look up from her twiddling fingers in her lap and watch you with wide eyes.  “I struggled with it…but I was raised to take care of my family, my little brother, and I knew the only way to do that was to help the authorities going after my father.  So, while I was at school in the city, I went to the authorities and told them everything.”

“What – what happened?”

“It took a year, but my father was arrested and locked away for a long time.  My brother is safe, he goes to school and most of his life will be completely normal and unhindered by our father, and I found my calling here, in the BAU, with people I trust.”  You smiled to Jenny, who offered a shaky smile in return.  She launched herself towards you pulling you into a hug as you held her, the adolescent entirely unaware of just how much of an impact she had on you.  “Your future is your own, you are not your father, and one day you’ll find someone or even a group of people who help you trust again.  And, if you need anything…”

You pulled away and pulled one of the half-dozen cards you kept tucked in one of your pockets while you were on the job, handing it to Jenny with a smile and a promise.  “If you help or just need to talk, give me a call.”

“You think…” Jenny looked down at the card in thought, “You think I could be an agent too?”

“I think you can do whatever you want to do.”  You stood up with a few soft pats on Jenny’s back and a friendly smirk, “But if you’re thinking FBI, you might as well keep the jacket.”

For a flash of an instant, when Jenny looked up at you and her smile grew more confident, you could have sworn you were looking at that… _you._   It was a younger you, from years ago, with your hair in the messy ponytail you’d always matched with cut-off shorts and an old band t-shirt matched with a paint-stained flannel and low-tops, freckles across your cheekbones and nose still far more prominent before softly fading out of age.  Your smirk turned back into a soft smile.

“You’ll be just fine, I promise.”


	43. The Man Of Many Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things were just settled and now I’m stirring up shit again.
> 
> Heeeeeeyyyyy!!
> 
> So, including this case, there are two more cases until the arc about Rea’s last MI6 case comes into play.
> 
> Yaaaaaay!!!!
> 
> The opening scene was supposed to be really different. The girls having lunch in a diner while they call Rea out on her feelings for Spence. A few things nixed that. First: Rea is a LOT better at hiding things than Spence, she was a damn spy and went undercover where one slip meant she ended up with a bullet in her brain. Also, as much fun as the whole ‘everyone knows so just smoosh faces already’ plot point is, it sort of puts an unwanted kink in plans for after the first face smoosh happens. Yes. I will continue referring to it as face smooshing because it’s funny. Second: I have cramps and I’m feeling ugh and just wanna curl up with my kitty, a heating pad, some tacos, and replay Fable III.
> 
> Also, the pool is going to be a running joke for a while. It might not come up often, but it will still be a thing.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Man Of Many Names

 

You’d been shot, you had a few scars from a planned capture to allow you to gather information, you’d had bones broken and dislocated, and you still felt like such a chump when your period came around.  Granted, your cramps only lasted the first two days, but you still hated the fact that they knocked you on your ass.  It helped knowing there were others who’d brushed off a burst appendix because they’d had _period cramps_ that hurt worse, but you were still angry that your own body could ground you when a _bullet_ couldn’t.  Though…you’d been able to _literally_ walk off a gunshot to the thigh because you’d had cramps that hurt worse…so there was that.

You were grateful for the weekend, curled up on your couch with your cat, and once again making your way through _Fable III_.  You paused the game as you heard a key in the door, placing one foot on the floor as you prepared for the worst.  You’d undone the chain on the door when Spencer told you he’d be over, you’d exchanged spare keys a while ago, but you could never be too careful.  When you saw Spencer stepping through the door you snuggled back into your spot, under your fluffy blanket with your fuzzball cat purring away in his spot on your feet, and went right back to bombing zombies with the mortar at Mourningwood Fort.

You once again paused the game when Spencer placed a brand-new bottle of Pamprin right next to your bottle of Vanilla Coke, and watched carefully as he approached the extension cord your 360 was plugged into.  It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to do your own thing while in the same room – that was sort of the _go to_ plan unless there was something you both wanted to watch or go – but you were still curious what he was doing until you spotted the heating pad.  Yours had died last month and the damn things were a _bitch_ to find, so you honestly hadn’t expected Spencer to have one.

What in the actual hell had you done to deserve someone like Spencer in your life?  He’d even picked up takeout from your favorite Mexican restaurant down the street.

You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s waist when he brought the bad over to you, your head only reaching his stomach as you weren’t about to get up because _cramps_ , and he couldn’t help but smile a little as he rubbed your back in the short embrace, grabbing his book and taking his own seat at the other end of the couch while Sardine moved from his spot on your feet to curl up on Spencer’s lap.

Spencer was, and always would be, the kind of guy that did things like this unprompted, with no other motivation than caring for a friend, but you’d _also_ noticed something _missing_ from around his wrist.

“You’re not doing this because you already lost all the hair bands I got you, right?”

“What?  _No._ ”

There was a brief pause as you continued to play your game and Spencer returned to reading, you took a pause to reach forward and take another swig of your drink after taking two Pamprin, before…

“But how do you keep track of all of them?  I keep one on my wrist like you told me to and I still lost _all of them”_

You snorted, the bubbles of your soda burning your nose as you squeezed your eyes shut, still giggling through the burning and bubbling sensation in your sinuses.

_“Son of a – agh.”_

 

********

 

White collar crimes weren’t generally the kind of crime handled in the BAU, but this con artist’s sudden escalation to murder – the first in the five years – had caused the investigating agent, Agent Russell Goldman, to bring the case to the team.  He had to fly from the field office in San Diego to meet with the team, but considering the circumstances it was a good call.  Admittedly, Goldman had a bit of an _accountant_ vibe, field work didn’t seem to suit him as much as following a paper trail, but in White Collar that was exactly the kind of agent they needed.  He was a bit soft-spoken, had multiple nervous ticks, and you’d wager he had _no_ ‘alpha’ traits – as opposed to _everyone_ on the BAU team.

It wasn’t exactly a _secret_ everyone on the team had at least _some_ alpha traits.  Morgan was very much the _classic_ alpha male, Hotch leaned that way as well but was a tad more deft both due to age and his experience as a prosecutor.  Rossi was still up for a gunfight if need be, but he’d become _really_ good at putting unsubs on edge and challenging them to the point they slipped up and left a trail to follow.  JJ had a protective streak, that had only grown stronger after becoming a mother, that gave her the ability to shoot a man in the head without a second thought – something most people in _general_ weren’t capable of.  While Emily didn’t go around _picking_ fights, she wouldn’t back down from one either, and she could be downright _terrifying_ if need be.

It was you, Penny, and Spencer that not only had the most _unusual_ alpha traits but also, arguably, the most _dangerous._   Penny was perfectly capable – and _willing_ – to dig up long hidden and dangerous information on _anyone_.  Hell, she’d hacked into MI6 to make sure you didn’t pose a threat against the team even though you were _part_ of the team.  She could crash an entire server, and absolutely _would_ , while fully aware the potential damage that could do in an age of technology.

Sure, you wouldn’t even _blink_ before snapping a man’s neck with your bare hands, you’d ripped out a man’s throat just weeks ago, and could _easily_ be the most dangerous person in a room at _any_ time, but that wasn’t made you dangerous.  What defined you as an alpha female was your ability to make _anyone_ thing you were just a harmless beauty in need of rescuing, the exact ability that made one of Morgan’s nicknames for you – _Black Widow –_ a bit more accurate than most would like to admit.

Then there was Spencer, a literal genius in an age where information and knowledge were _everything._   He was growing more aware of this, either due to age or experience, but he was starting to look at every case more and more like a chess game with a dash of bluffing and leading an unsub to _assume_ dashed into the mix.  As _angry_ as you were at him for going off and facing an unsub _alone_ just after he no longer needed crutches or a cane, there was no doubt in your mind he was also in control the entire time.  That wasn’t even counting his innate _need_ to care for his friends and family, something that everyone seemed to _forget_ was a trait that _defined_ an alpha in the first place.

“Carla Marshall was found dead in her home,” JJ filled you all in on the murder, bringing up crime scene photos onto the screen, “Asphyxiation by strangulation, she also had trauma wounds to the head.”

“Why do we think the con man killed her?”  Spencer jumped right to the connection between the victim and the proposed suspect, a starting point that could at least _partially_ form victimology.

“Last week Carla contacted a fraud website to report a scam, the report ended up on Goldman’s desk.”

“We spoke on the phone at length,” Goldman delved deeper into the specifics, “Her story matched my guy to the “T.”  She planned on confronting him that night, I told her to cease all communications and wait for me, I’d fly to Miami and set up a sting, but that never happened.”

“Do you have _physical_ evidence confirming it’s your guy?” Morgan questioned as he sat back, waiting to continue reading over the case file until after the initial briefing.

“No, but for her to be murdered the night that we spoke, I don’t think it was a coincidence,” Goldman answered, admitting that his gut was the only thing connecting the murder to the con man he’d been following.

“There was no sign of forced entry, theft, or sexual assault,” Hotch listed off, simultaneously ruling out any crime that was committed out of _opportunity_ and pointing out that Carla knew her attacker.

“It takes at _least_ thirty seconds to choke someone to death, sometimes longer, so either the unsub gets off on suffocating his victims or he knows them personally,” you added, your copy of the file still closed on the round table.  You’d turned in your seat to face the screen, legs crossed at the ankles as a natural habit after years of boarding school, and the fact you’d opted to wear the gray pencil skirt your white blouse was tucked into only reinforced that old habit.

“What’s his hustle?” Emily was looking for more information on the unsub, maybe he was always bordering on a violent break.

“Investment fraud.  Basically, he’s a smaller Madoff.”

“To give you an idea of how convincing he is, this is a sampling of his work going back fourteen years.”  JJ brought up photos of only _some_ of the unsub’s victims from his career, spanning all over the states.

Spencer noticed they were all couples, multiple victims in the same location, and was still fully aware that was only _some_ of the unsub’s victims.  “He’s prolific.”

“He’s scammed hundreds of thousands of dollars from people, but he’s never been violent before,” Goldman insisted, pushing that this was new and strange, leading everyone to believe this unsub was suffering from a psychotic break.

“Con men usually don’t murder,” Rossi chimed in with his own experience, “But when they do, it’s to conceal these crimes.”

“Con man’s a nice name for these guys,” Morgan reminded the rest of you of one very important point, “They profile as psychopaths.”

They _did._   They didn’t care about anyone else, only their own gain.  They did what made them happy without care of the consequences for others.

“They see their cons as theater, and themselves as a puppeteer.  They have to have absolute control over their victims and their cons,” Spencer explained, briefly, mostly for Goldman to have a close idea of just what he was dealing with.

“Maybe that’s why he started killing,” Prentiss proposed an early theory, “Because he lost control?”

“That’s likely the case, we just need to figure how much control he has and _why_ he lost control,” you agreed with the early theory, at the moment it was the best one and would likely still hold as the investigation continued.  Dealing with con men was odd for the BAU, but that was mostly because their behavior was _textbook_.  They were a very specific kind of psychopath and it wasn’t too hard to figure out what they were going to do next.  It was when they lost control that things became unpredictable.

“Well, if he’s spiraling, he’s a danger to everyone around him,” Hotch brought up another piece of the traditional con man’s profile.  Con men lived off of having control, and when they lost that control, they experienced a psychological break leaving them unpredictable and capable of anything.

“And because he’s so charming,” Rossi brought up the worst part of it all, “The victims never see it coming.”

 

********

 

“I can’t believe you guys have your own jet.”  Goldman had leaned over the table to look out the window, causing Rossi to try and merge back into his seat as he held back the urge to stop the White Collar investigator to _get out of his personal space._   You could just _imagine_ the look on Rossi’s face, the original agent on the case had been in awe of the jet ever since takeoff.

You hadn’t bothered changing out of your skirt, even packed a few of them into your go-bag, entirely because it was primarily a _White Collar_ case.  Most of what you would be doing was following a paper trail and talking to people, no guns or SWAT teams necessary.  Your skirts were comfortable, you looked good in them, and you just didn’t feel like dealing with the _skinny jean shuffle_.

“We take turns piloting,” Emily joked, from her seat across from you, speaking so casually the poor man actually believed her, “You wanna give her a try?”

“Really?”

Emily’s brow furrowed upwards in near pity as she smiled and shook her head, “No.”

“You joke,” you mused as you continued reading the case file in detail, “But two of us are actually capable of flying this thing.”

“You and who else?”  Morgan looked up from his copy of the smile and shot you an amused smirk.  It was a safe assumption that you knew how to fly the jet, and he was willing to be who the other person was.  He knew he was taking the bait by asking that question, but the banter between you and the genius was too amusing to pass up.

He _certainly_ wasn’t goading the flirty banter to win the pool. 

Alright…maybe that had a little something to do with it.

Unbeknownst to both you and Reid, a few research agents had put together a bet on when you and the doctor would hook up.  JJ had caught wind of the bet first, and then filled in everyone _but_ you and Reid.  The two young agents had been _terrified_ of being reprimanded when Hotch and Rossi approached them, only to find out they only wanted to just the calendar to scribble down an _AH_ or _DR_ and drop some cash into the growing pool.  Morgan couldn’t _believe_ those were the dates JJ, Hotch, Rossi had picked.  They were _way_ too soon, Reid had already fallen flat on his face for you, but you had yet to show _any_ signs of feelings that were more than platonic.  Even if Reid did say something, the two of you weren’t getting together before the end of the year.  It just wasn’t happening.

Still, since Prentiss and Garcia had gotten to the pool before Morgan, they’d both picked dates that were _far_ more likely than the one Morgan was stuck with after the pool had been passed around the whole office and made a little field trip to the interns just down the hall.  So, he had to push and nudge where he could to get things jump-started.

“I mean, I’m just guessing, but that’s the sort of thing Spencer just _happens_ to know.”  You looked up from your file and turned to Spencer as he shot you an aghast look.

“What?  No, I don’t.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t already know enough of the maths, physics, and engineering involved to figure it out at this very moment.”  You knew the answer to that.

“I…I…”  Spencer’s expression fell into one of realization as it all clicked in his head and realized you just, in that second as his mind clicked the pieces together without his prompting, proved your point, muttering under his breath, “Dammit.”

You couldn’t help your giggles as Spencer’s expression, a mixture of realization and defeat, shifted to one that – lightheartedly – swore vengeance against you.  It was a half-hearted glare, and it was just as amusing as your little tease in the first place.

“What kind of forensic countermeasures does he use to hide his trail?” Morgan turned back to business, mood slowly falling as the lighthearted mood proved to be short lived.

“Fake I.D.’s, disposable phones, prepaid credit cards, foreign bank accounts,” Goldman listed off the techniques he’d been trying to combat over the years he’d been tracking this unsub.

“You can’t track his accounts overseas?” JJ questioned, as that wasn’t something she’d had to deal with a lot.  She knew tracking accounts in _Russia_ was near impossible but getting a Russian bank account with an American I.D. was impossible, even for the unsub.

“It takes too long to get the records.  Groups that specialize in international investigations like Interpol, the UN, CIA, MI6, they all have processes that allows them to get that information immediately,” you explained the technicalities of dealing with overseas accounts, “The FBI doesn’t have that kind of luxury, as our jurisdiction ends the second we leave the US or US territories.”

“By the time you figure out it’s in the Bahamas, he’s already moved it to Switzerland, or somewhere else,” Spencer offered an example of the complicated situation that was tracking a con man’s overseas bank accounts.

“I’ve always been too far behind him.”  Death and murder weren’t something Goldman had to deal with often.  Outside of his own life, the natural deaths of aged loved ones, he didn’t have to deal with it _at all_.  It just wasn’t something that came up that often in White Collar crimes.

“Well, we’re a lot closer now because of Carla,” Emily offered as condolence, something that would often help an investigator who dealt with murders regularly like members of the BAU or homicide detectives, but it was a risky venture with a White Collar agent.  “What made her suspicious in the first place?”

“She needed to get her father into a retirement home, and when she called this guy Grant Dale to free up her money, he never returned her phone calls.”

“A con man’s first instinct is flight, not fight,” Morgan pointed out just how odd it was that the unsub had opted for _murder_ as a response to being caught.

“What makes him kill, though, isn’t financial,” Rossi added, “It’s psychological.”

“That’s what we need to concentrate on.  Why Carla and why now?” Hotch aimed the team in the right direction, as he normally did, before giving everyone somewhere to start gathering information, “Morgan and Prentiss, go to her house.  Agent Goldman, why don’t you join them.”

“I sent his case files to the field office,” Goldman filled the rest of you in on what to expect at the field office in Miami, “Shouldn’t I stay with you and help you sift through them?”

“I’d like to go through them independently, come up with our own theories,” Hotch answered simply, indicating that an outside view was necessary, “See if any behavioral patterns emerge that’ll help us get ahead of him.”

You were going to be focused on a paper trail when there was a murder scene to look at and people to talk to.

It’s like Hotch didn’t know you were trained for anything _but_ following a paper trail.


	44. The Weight Of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a reason I picked this episode, besides the fact I really like it. It’ll become really obvious in the first scene, literally right after Rea’s first line of dialogue.
> 
> See, this case and the next one are sort of going to highlight different parts of Rea’s history before we get into the weeds with her last MI6 mission.
> 
> I had a job, working at the college I went to for my Associates, that involved going through file boxes like the ones in the show, organizing them, and then cataloging them. Depending on the size of the file, you can fit over twenty files in those things without cramming any along the side – which is definitely something I did because we only had a set amount of boxes and our bosses got all bitchy when we said we needed more boxes…though technically they weren’t our bosses because I worked for the school bookstore and my friend worked for the school library and we were doing that project for Financial Aid. 
> 
> They couldn’t get their own work-studies because nobody liked them. They were mean, generally unhelpful when it came to understanding just what the hell anything meant, and getting solid answers out of them about just how they’d gotten the money to pay for your classes was like pulling teeth.
> 
> I’m convinced, to this day, that they sold me to the mafia and just never told me about it.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Weight Of Names

 

Even Hotch and Spencer were looking _up_ at the _multiple_ stacks of boxes on top of the table – _all_ of them boxes filled with the paper trail Goldman had been following for _five years._   Even _Spencer_ grimaced for a second when he’d first seen the boxes and boxes of files.

“You’re kidding me.”  Rossi just put his hands on his hips, staring at the boxes the five of you would have to dig through.

“We have to go through _all_ of this?”  JJ, who easily had to go through the most paperwork out of the five of you, had _never_ seen so many files in one place – save for the records storage room in the _basement_.

“White Collar cases often come down to a paper trail.”  Hotch reminded the three of you that were more _intimidated_ by the number of files than anything else.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”  There went Spencer with his damn _bright side_ , causing you to turn and give your friend the driest look you could muster. “I mean, at least it’s well organized.”

“Says the man who can read _Moby Dick_ in an _hour_ ,” you deadpanned, and luckily – for him – he’d decided _against_ pointing out it took a little longer than an hour.  “Is there a specific reason _I_ need to be here?”

“That depends,” Rossi replied as he looked down to you, where you stood between him and Reid, “How many identities did you have before you landed on this one?”

You grimaced, your eyes narrowing a bit as your grimace turned into a little pout before you skipped over admitting Rossi – and by extension Hotch – had a point by saying, “So, are we going through this chronologically from the beginning?  Or starting with Clara’s file and going backwards?  Because, as much of a bitch as it’s going to be, tracking someone’s identities is best done in chronological order so you can set up a timeline and track the small changes in behavior made with every switch and find the similarities that will help pinpoint a specific psychological profile.”

“[Y/N], you focus on that.  Dave, you work victimology.  Reid, see if you can find anything in his travel patterns.  JJ, let’s get a timeline started.”

 

********

 

The unsub – who Goldman suspected was really named William based on the unsub’s use of the name in his early career – had _nine_ different websites under different names, all aliases Goldman hadn’t seen before.  They were all the same, save for the name, and helped him sell the image of success.  More than that, the unsub never had as many as ten identities at once.  None of that explained why he’d targeted Carla, as she didn’t have the kind of money his victims usually had, but it did help put a few things together.

“I’d say he’s either overconfident or _stupid_ , but when you’re dealing with multiple I.D.’s there’s no difference between the two,” you warned the rest of the team as you took over the whiteboard set aside _entirely_ for the unsub’s aliases.  You’d not only _had_ multiple names at a time, but you’d tracked people with multiple names at a time – people who were much more likely to take off for an entirely different country at that.  You’d tagged the start and end month or year next to each name, along with descriptors such as ‘first,’ ‘largest take,’ or ‘presumed dead by police.’ 

You continued to fill the others in the office in on general alias protocol within agencies, “Agencies allow agents to have a max of three identities at once, but there is _always_ a cooldown period between each identity.  This is to allow the agent readjust to being referred to as their real name and allow them to remind themselves that the fake identity they’ve been carrying isn’t them.  It can also be used for specialists to adjust to being referred to by a different name, these are agents who have long since abandoned their birth name and live hopping from identity to identity simply out of necessity.”

“This guy’s juggling ten.”  Spencer continued going through the screenshots of the websites the unsub had put together.

“Being all these people, that’s gotta start fracturing him somehow,” Rossi concluded, noticing that _none_ of the names the unsub was currently using were on the board.

“Probably more than you realize,” you jumped in, the voice of expertise, as you capped your marker and added in another detail, “It’s not just about keeping names or hometowns straight.  If an identity is going to be successful, you accept them as part of yourself.  While long-term identities are more heavily or even _entirely_ based on _you_ , especially ones that are meant to be permanent, temporary identities can be more flexible.  It’s not uncommon for undercover agents to be someone completely different for a few weeks, but that’s only if you need a very specific persona.  Most of the time, you’re assigning a new name and background to someone, but the core of who they are remains the same, that’s likely what we’re dealing with here.  The problem is, as he spirals out of control, he might forget which identity is _real_ , and there’s no telling the damage that could cause.”

“If his memory is strained, it could be causing him to lose control,” Spencer proposed the source of the unsub’s sudden loss of control, the thing that put the unsub on the edge in the first place, and made it so easy for Carla’s suspicions to push him to murder her. 

“We have the current aliases, we just need to know who the clients are,” Hotch mentioned the piece that was still missing, as finding the clients would allow the team to warn them and get a good description on what the unsub looks like, and hopefully allow for a sting operation.

“Got Carla’s phone records,” JJ returned from dealing with both local and national reporters, keeping them from reporting the story for as long as possible, on top of getting any records that might help, handing the printed records to Hotch so he could look them over and see if anything else was worth attention, “She made several calls to an unknown number the night she died.  I tracked the number, it was a disposable phone that hasn’t been used since.”

“That’s gotta be the unsub’s number, he tossed it after he killed her,” Rossi voiced the conclusion you’d all reached.

“Over the past few months, she routinely called this number _really_ late at night,” JJ added, the hint at an innuendo making you need to _clarify_ just what she meant, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s seat and casually leaning against it, _absolutely_ invading Spencer’s personal space, and the genius didn’t care one bit.

“Late or _late?_ ”

“ _Bedtime_ late.”

“You don’t do business with your investment manager at bedtime,” Hotch cut through the innuendos you and JJ were throwing about, mostly out of fun, without actively _saying_ that Carla was sleeping with the unsub.

“So,” you concluded, “We’re looking for a thieving man-whore in a psychotic break.  _Fantastic.”_

 

********

 

“So, what you said about fake identities…”  Spencer wasn’t entirely sure how to ask the question.  He knew who you were, he was mostly curious about your _past_ identities.  “How much of them were based on… _you_?”

“I had a few shorter undercover operations, they called for someone very specific for a few weeks, no more than a month.”  You shrugged as you gave the answer, stirring creamer into your coffee as you and Spencer made a trip to the coffee station down the hall from the window-lined conference room the team and Goldman were working out of.  “Longer term identities were closer to… _me_.  The only real difference now is my name, and that I’m _older_ than I used to be.”

“I know, I just…” Spencer offered a reassuring smile before going back to loading his own coffee with sugar as he tried to find the words, “It just…sounded like you haven’t used your _real_ name in a while…”

“No, not since I was a teenager,” you admitted honestly, thoughtfully, as you continued, “I don’t know if I’d _call_ it my real name anymore, anyway.  That name sort of…it represented someone I _used_ to be, and I haven’t been that person since I left MI6.  I’m _certainly_ not the same person I was when I started _here_ , not exactly.”

“I think you are.”

You looked up from your coffee, having stopped stirring but clutching the paper cup in both hands while you leaned back against the counter to avoid eye-contact.

“You’ve _grown_ , but we _all_ have over the years.”  Spencer shrugged and turned to lean back against the counter with you, his own coffee in hand.  “You’ve opened up, and you can trust people, but at your _core_ you’re still the same.”

“So, let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” you started, immediately catching Spencer’s attention as it seemed like you were either changing the subject out of _nowhere_ or onto some sort of realization.  “In this scenario, a genius with PhD’s in math and science and an artist that’s turned in official documents with doodles in the corners, the _genius_ is the romantic optimist.”

“What?” Spencer laughed, just barely avoiding taking a sip as you mentioned turning in paperwork with doodles on it, “Did Hotch _say_ anything?”

“No,” you laughed, just as amused, “ _Nobody_ has.  I’m about to sketch out a scenery on the back and see if anyone says anything.  Either a scenery or a _really_ detailed dick, I haven’t decided.”

 _That_ time you’d caught Spencer as he took a drink of coffee, throwing the genius into a string of curses just after hot – and highly sugared – coffee burned his nose, throwing you into a fit of giggles.

_“Goddammit.  Agh, fuck.”_

 

 

********

 

In the first three cities the unsub hit, he targeted ‘affinity groups,’ groups with shared interests.  Afterwards, the unsub changed his approach, it didn’t even look like the other victims knew each other.  Finding out his new method of tracking down victims was the best place to really start tracking this guy down.  You got as far as you could, but as the hours passed since the sun went down, Hotch decided to call it a day and tell everyone to get back to the hotel and get some rest.

First thing in the morning, just as the sun _started_ peeking over the horizon, you were all woken up by a _second_ victim.

A man this time, his head bashed in with an empty crystal decanter kept on his ornate boat in Fort Lauderdale in what seemed to be a private dock.  The unsub and victim had been meeting over drinks, the victim’s checkbook and pen were out, but the only thing written on the check was the date.  The unsub had likely failed in getting the money, saw his control slip out of his grasp like sand, and responded by bashing in the victim’s head.

He was unhinged, quickly devolving, and he had _no idea._

Based on the testimony of the widow, who had also been sleeping with the unsub she knew as ‘Randy,’ he kept saying they needed to be _aggressive_ in the market.  She’d also been the one who _met_ the unsub in the first place, as he’d charmed his way into her bed and then made his way into her husband’s checkbook.

You were back in the field office with Reid, Morgan, and Hotch as the four of you continued to work through the files on the table.  You’d already shed your black cardigan, leaving you in your sky blue blouse tucked into your black pencil skirt, and just kept making your way through file after file as you made note of the alterations in the unsub’s behavior and suspected identities.  They were all growing less and less elaborate, he went from formulating completely different backgrounds that were growing more and more elaborate as he gained more experience, before he suddenly snapped to the technique he was using now – a different name to the same face.  A gradual shift would have been one thing…but something so sudden…

While that was fairly common for agents, that was uncharacteristic for a con man.

While you didn’t _like_ following the paper trail, you weren’t nearly as pouty about it as Morgan, who had gotten up just _barely_ too late to hop into the car headed to the crime scene.

“You’re not _enjoying_ this, are you?”  Morgan had paused to watch as Spencer went through files at lightning speed, just like he’d done the day before.  That was about _half_ the reason you only had a _table_ of files left to go through instead of boxes, upon boxes, upon _more_ bloody boxes.

“I like a good paper trail, I find it meditative,” Spencer answered as he continued going through files, the pile of files he’d already read already larger than the pile he had yet to go through.  Morgan was _about_ to comment, but you jumped in before he had a chance, more musing than anything as you hadn’t looked up from the file in front of you.

“Before you start, I’d like to point out there were fifteen _boxes_ of files yesterday and now we’ve only a table to go through.”

Morgan just nodded a bit, mostly to himself, before grabbing the next file and continuing to read.

Hotch returned from making a series of routine calls, as his position as unit chief entailed, before checking in with the others to see what they’d found at the crime scene in Fort Lauderdale.  He picked up a marker and crossed off one of the identities written on the board, _Randy Summerland._   “He just burned another alias.”

“You know, if this guy’s on a mission to eliminate all these aliases, he’s gonna systematically assassinate his victims,” Morgan brought up the worst-case scenario.

“I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to do.  The way he’s setting up his I.D.s are all for short-term use, but he’s still pushing for the kind of money that would require a larger con,” you debated as you sat back in your seat, “He’s planning on running the con then disappearing.”

“Carla lived in Miami,” Hotch started mapping out the known area where the unsub found his victims, “This victim, Frank McKelson, lived north in Fort Lauderdale.  The victims could be anywhere in south Florida.”

“If he’s working harder because of the economy, it makes sense that he’d expand his operating zone,” Spencer offered an explanation for the wider zone than what was expected.

“Maybe it’s not about where he _does_ operate, but where he _doesn’t_ ,” you shot the idea out, but there was nothing to work with.  It was barely a _proposed_ idea, with nothing but past experiences with wildly different unsubs to support it.

It wasn’t a _wild_ idea, but it was one without leverage.

“Prentiss and Rossi are on their way back, we need to give the profile,” Hotch prepped the rest of you to get ready to brief the other agents working the case, but you weren’t the only one that spotted the wild changes in the unsub’s behavior.

“There’s something else about San Diego,” Spencer quickly changed the subject as he got up and made his way over to the board outlining the timeline of the unsub’s operations, “I noticed in his earlier crimes he only stays in each city an average of 14 to 18 months, then he’s in San Diego for three and a half years, and then never in the same city for that long again.”

“I caught something like that too,” you agreed as you and Morgan also stood up, preparing to leave with Hotch to present the profile, “As he gained more and more experience, his fake I.D.s became more and more elaborate, but after San Diego he suddenly changes to fake I.D.s that are no more complicated than a new name.  That’s not unusual behavior for agents, but for a con man that just seems odd.”

“Alright, so what is it about San Diego that made him stay longer and change his M.O.?” Morgan voiced the million-dollar question surrounding those observations.

“Reid, [L/N], keep following that.  See where it takes us.”


	45. The Woman Of Many Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can NOT tell me that, after all the shit he goes through just in the first two seasons, Spencer doesn’t quickly figure out how to con people himself. In season three he successfully withheld the fact he knew a teenage unsub wasn’t going to his mother’s grave like the rest of the team thought, in season four he managed to convince the leader of a militant cult that he was just an investigator from Child Services after the cult already knew the FBI sent someone in to investigate, season five starts off with him convincing a man who was led by an unsub to believe his son was going to be killed to keep calm and focus on helping figure out who the unsub was, and immediately afterward he successfully lied to Hoctch about being cleared for field duty until Hotch actually got a copy of the report saying Spencer wasn’t cleared for field duty. Then, just later that season, he manages to just take off – once again – before anyone notices and talks down a VERY mentally unstable unsub.  
> Do NOT tell me that Dr. Spencer Reid cannot manipulate people. Do NOT.  
> Also, remember how I said there was another case between this one and the case surrounding Rea’s lasts MI6 mission?
> 
> Yeah, change of plans. The case that was supposed to be between this one and the MI6 mission was supposed to illustrate that Rea has a natural affinity for kids and will 100% throw herself on a grenade to protect them. But that's literally what the last 40-something chapters have already illustrated, so that's just beating a dead horse.
> 
> So, instead, shit’s about to get REAL…
> 
> Well…more real…

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Woman Of Many Names

 

“Alright, we need to figure out why the unsub changed M.O., we need to start with the profile,” you were free to pace back and forth, you’d just gotten off the phone from talking with a handful of the unsub’s victims prior to San Diego, holding a dry-erase marker in one hand as you tapped it against the palm of your other hand.  Start with the basics, the one thing even the best of profilers needed to keep in mind at all times.  “He’s entirely White Collar, displays a classic case of the Dark Triad.”

“Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and self-promotion,” Spencer listed off quickly before switching gears, he’d carefully moved stacks of files you’d already gone through to clear off enough space to sit on the table as the two of you worked, on foot rested on the edge of a nearby chair, “He specifically targets women he can seduce, then he uses that connection to get close to their husband to get more money out of the couple.”

“With this victimology, he likely frequents country clubs, hotel bars, and high-end establishments that require a membership, constantly moving his money around different accounts, and has a victim pool that includes all of southern Florida.”  You kept pacing as you thought, but switched from lightly tapping the edge of the marker’s cap against your hand, to tapping the tip of the cap against your hand.

“He’s capable of being in control at all times, and – “ Spencer was cut off by the little snort you’d let out, “What?”

You stopped pacing and turned to face Spencer, placing a hand on your hip as you lightheartedly teased, “Nothing, just takes one to know one, right?”

“ _What?”_   Spencer was more _acting_ shocked than anything, and it would have been _successful_ had he been talking with _anyone else._   He wasn’t stupid, he was _fully_ aware of what you were talking about.  You’d _been there_ as he gamed Prentiss into thinking she was better at cards, up until he’d learned her tells and turned the tables in two hands.

“Oh, don’t you try and game me, Dr. Reid, I see _right_ through you,” you narrowed your eyes in a lightheartedly accusing manner, though you were still calling him out, “I may have an impressive ability to manipulate people, but don’t act like you can’t fool an entire _room._ ”

He just shrugged in feigned innocence before questioned, “Maybe I can, but who’s going to believe you?”

“Nobody, because you’ve _already_ tricked them all.  Even Hotch and Rossi are fooled, to the point that they’ve _completely_ forgotten that you _lied_ about being cleared for field work right after you were shot, and then just _took off_ to face an unsub without backup only _weeks_ ago,” you admitted as you pointed to him with the marker in your hand, “Frankly, as a profiler and a _spy_ , I’m impressed.  The only reason _I’m_ not fooled is that I’m _fully_ aware we live in an age of information, where the _smartest_ man is the one you have to watch out for.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about, but thank you.”  It was a façade, a purposely poorly played façade.  The friendly – borderline flirty when you looked back on it – banter had to end there, however, as there was still a con man in the middle of a psychotic break and there was no telling when or who he was going to kill next.  “The unsub is losing track of all his identities, because of that he loses control, and he reacts violently.”

“He used to be very calculated about his identities, very precise, and he never stayed in one area too long.  Then, out of nowhere, he stayed in San Diego over three years and completely changed his M.O.  He even keeps all of his marks separate by using different identities on each one.  He completely changes his behavior, even his choice in cars changes from flashy sports cars to large sedans and SUV’s, moved from condos to houses with yards, so we just need to – “

You and Spencer where hit by the same realization at the same time, like a bolt of lightning struck the ground between you, and you met eyes just before Spencer voiced the sudden shift in the unsub’s behavior.

“He has a family.”

 

********

 

If the wife was complicit, the unsub wouldn’t have changed his M.O. so drastically.  He’d still be able to pull off the same longer cons he’d been doing before San Diego, so it was most likely the wife had no idea and was still using her _real_ name.  On top of that, the unsub was likely putting everything in his wife’s name, it was too risky to put everything in his own name and most people aren’t cautious enough to wonder why a spouse or significant other doesn’t want their name on something.

So, the game had just changed.

Find the wife, find the unsub.

That was still the approach on day three, when a third victim was found dumped by the side of the road.  Another woman, and another victim of massive blunt-force trauma.  You and Spencer had been the first to get up, to be fair you'd been awake since you'd received five calls from an unknown number within the span of five minutes at four in the morning, and while Spencer had been planning on making his way back to the field office to continue working you grabbed him and pulled him to the crime scene with Prentiss and Goldman because you _both_ needed some fresh air.

Even if it was the fresh _humid_ air of _Florida._   Within minutes you were tying your hair into a messy bun in an attempt to keep it from becoming an unmanageable _bush_ more reminiscent of a lion’s mane than human hair.

Goldman was growing more and more uneasy, he’d likely never dealt with so much death in such a short period of time, let alone _violent_ death.

You’d gotten a few looks from local cops as you slid out of the back of the SUV and to the fence lining the perimeter of the lake the victim was dumped by, opting out of climbing over the fence, but you brushed it off and focused on the task at hand.  Then you noticed Emily was shifting her gaze between you and Spencer when he joined the rest of you after taking a call from JJ.

“JJ said a man reported his wife missing last night.  Description matches the body, name’s Lorraine Horton.”

“Do we know anything about her investment history?”  Goldman just wanted to take a moment to focus on what he knew, and not the body only a foot away from his feet.

“Team’s looking into it right now.”

“Okay,” Emily snapped out of whatever had her shifting her eyes between you and Spencer to step closer to the fence and discuss the case further, “So, he killed his first victim in Miami and then left town, came to Fort Lauderdale, killed his second victim here, but he didn’t leave town for his third.”

“He stayed here,” you pulled out the noteworthy information to propose an idea, “His family might live here.”

“That’s why he’s trying to eliminate threats to himself here,” Spencer drew further on the idea, “Cause this is his home, where he needs to protect his identity.”

Emily was already pulling her phone out of her pocket, calling the one person that could help shed some more light on the situation, “Hey Garcia...Okay, narrow the search down to Fort Lauderdale only.  Look at women who moved here eight to twelve months ago, see if any of them have any history with San Diego.”

It was a short call, one that didn’t even warrant speaker phone, and the four of you didn’t stay much longer as you’d learned everything you could from the dump site, but Emily still pulled you aside and brushed off as a quick _personal matter_.  Spencer brushed it off, it didn’t seem like anything that could be his business, and Goldman just wanted to leave the dump site.

“What’s up?”  You hadn’t been expecting anything like this from Em, even with the look she’d shot you earlier.

“You _do_ realize the two of you have matching outfits, right?”  She had to make sure.  She just _had_ to make sure you’d noticed that.

“What?  What are you – “ you looked down at your outfit, a purple scoop-neck t-shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt and matched with black buckled heels and a long black cardigan, before _assuming_ Emily was talking about Spencer an looking over to him.  The shade of his shirt was lighter, and his sweater was more of an oxford blue than –

Alright, the fact that you were nitpicking just proved Emily’s point.

To your defense…what were the chances you’d pulled that off a _second_ time?

“Once is funny, twice is just freakish,” you thought aloud as you started making your way back to the car, immediately catching Emily’s attention.

Mostly because she suspected she _already_ lost the pool.

 

********

 

“We’ve been asking ourselves how he finds his victims now,” Rossi started off the meeting, the piles of files already sorted through and tucked back into the white file boxes and everyone gathered around the table, now mostly cleared save for a few boxes.

“We just found out Lorraine got a large windfall from selling her mother’s house,” JJ filled the rest of you in on the crucial information she and Rossi had gotten from the bank manager, “Carla Marshall, the first victim, was in real estate.”

“When you sell a house, your property becomes public record.  Your name goes on these lists,” Rossi filled most of you in on just where the unsub had gotten Lorraine’s information.

“Lists compiled by lead brokers and sold to the real estate companies.”  Goldman was familiar with the situation, he’d dealt with it often.

JJ dug her ringing phone out of her pocket and put it on speaker, “Hey Pen.”

 _“Oh, man, it is raining snipe all up in here.”_   You noticed Emily’s little smirk, suspecting Penny’s little nod towards _snipe hunting_ was connected to something she’d said to Emily earlier.  _“Did you know that your boat owners Frank and Dina McKelson sold a house in Hawaii about eight months ago?”_

“Do any of them have a direct connection to Carla Marshall?” Spencer pointed Garcia in a specific direction, otherwise she’d be pulling up the information of _everyone_ living in Fort Lauderdale who’d sold a house at any time or any place.

That wasn’t _difficult_ , it was just a lot of information to weed through.

 _“Ah, Carla generated these letters advertising the swanky beachfront condos her company sells -  stay with me – Lorraine Horton, the lady who was murdered this morning, her address, along with the McKelsons’ address, are buried in a spreadsheet in Carla’s laptop.”_   Penny had hacked into Carla’s laptop remotely days ago, and she’d been filtering through everything to try and find something to connect her to the other victims.

“That’s how the unsub found his victims,” Rossi confirmed it, connecting the oddball of the victims to the others, “He used Carla to get her leads.”

“That’s why he went after her, even though he’d never receive the kind of money he could from his usual victims,” you concurred, as you were _finally_ catching up to the unsub.

“She gave him access to a list of people with a large amount of liquid assets.”  Morgan nodded briefly in agreement, leading JJ to make a simple request of the technical analyst on the other end of the line.

“We need that list.”

_“Already flying to you, but that is not all folks.  I think I may have found the wife.”_

None of you were surprised Penny had already sent the list your way, but that second part caught _everyone’s_ attention.

_“I did a search on women who’ve lived in Fort Lauderdale for the last eight to twelve months, who rent houses and cars, and have a history in San Diego.  Came up with about a dozen names but…ooh, la la, only one of them works in real estate.”_

“Who?” Emily broke through the silence on your end of the line.

_“Her name’s Rebecca Hodges.  She has a nine-year-old son, John Davidson Hodges, born in San Diego, father on birth certificate listed as William Hodges.”_

“William,” that part stuck out to Goldman.  He’d always suspected the unsub’s name was some form of William, as in the first few years of his career the unsub had introduced himself as Will, Bill, or Billy.

_“I got the address of the house she’s renting too.”_

“Let’s head over there.  Morgan, [L/N], pull the son out of school.”  Hotch divvied up the team as you all got up and ready to go, sending you and Morgan to the school for a few reasons.  Schools, especially ones centered around pre-adolescent children, responded more openly to female agents.  On top of that, you and Morgan just had a _way_ with kids and teenagers.  If a kid didn’t immediately attach to one of you, they’d attach to the other one.  “JJ and Reid, go over the list of potential victims.  If anybody knows the unsub, send units to them.”

 

********

 

“Spencer,” you didn’t even wait until you’d exited the school, let alone wait for Spencer to greet you after answering his cell, catching the click after the ringing stopped almost as soon as it started, “The son’s not here, William pulled him out of school about 45 minutes ago but there was no sign of Rebecca.  He’s trying to run, but he won’t do it without the wife.  He’s desperately trying to keep his identity as William Hodges intact, or he wouldn’t have bothered picking up his son.”

_“Alright, I’ll let everyone else know, JJ’s calling Garcia.”_

“Let me know what you find,” you said briefly, hanging up and getting into the passenger’s seat of the car, “She isn’t working, so it’s likely she’s still around her neighborhood, but he doesn’t know where she is so she’s not at home.”

Morgan was already peeling the car out of the parking spot along the curb, speeding down the street to catch up with Emily and Goldman before reaching Hotch and Rossi, “He’s looking for her too.”

“Clearly, but if he was balancing so many identities in the same area, he’d keep a close eye on his wife’s habits, making sure he wasn’t in the same place as any of his targets at the same time,” you were thinking aloud, holding your phone in your hand as you waited for the call giving you and Morgan a specific direction to head.  It wasn’t a long wait, a few minutes as he worked with JJ and Penny to figure out where the wife was before calling Hotch and catching you next.  “She’s with one of the victims, 2160 Eaton Place, take this next right.”

Morgan flipped the siren on, picking up speed as he took a sharp turn, “What’s going on, Black Widow?”

“If he returned home after his psychotic break started, she’d notice something was off, and a psychopath would have very little patience for someone completely ignorant.  He’d be entirely aware that he’d need someone capable of managing the home, their finances, and their son while he wasn’t around,” you started running the scenario through your head, calculating behavior patterns, human emotions, and the like at the rate Spencer solved mathematical equations.  Your own experiences with feigned identities, long term or short term, coming into play as well.

“So, he married someone smart enough to notice something was wrong and start investigating,” Morgan concluded, more like a sounding board as you began to rattle off a theory born from a gut-instinct that was remarkably accurate and personal experience.

“She would also recall all the other incidents he’s acted strange, but because they were singular she would have ignored them and believed his story that he was simply in a _bad mood_ or _stressed._   With the _repeated_ oddities over the last few days, she would be instinctually forced to try and find answers, throwing her wildly out of her routine, which is why the unsub can’t find her.  She was clever enough to remain hidden as she followed him, but that could partially be because he never considered her a _threat._   He’s working entirely on his fight or flight instinct, looking specifically for threats such as us, but his son and wife are the only thing keeping him from _completely_ loosing his mind, they’ve subconsciously become a sort of _salvation_ for him as everything falls apart.”

“She’s gotta know he’s sleeping around.  Think she’ll react violently?”

“Doubtful, he’d only accept someone who approaches situations with a more calculated approach.  She’s far from _emotionless_ , but the unsub wouldn’t have the time or energy for someone who could easily fly off the handle, especially if he’s regularly balancing multiple personas on top of _whoever_ William really is.”  You shook your head, the worst-case scenario suddenly hitting you like a ton of bricks as you tied your hair back and instructed Morgan to take the next left.  “She would absolutely question him, and if she does that he’ll begin spiraling.  He might barely keep it together, but there’s no guarantee he will refrain from reacting violently until we get there.”

“Let’s hope you get the chance to sweet-talk him before that happens.”

 

********

 

The flight back, despite how short it was, was quiet and solemn.  There was no doubt that Goldman was turning his badge in and resigning.  He’d been having a hard enough time with the bodies _William_ was dropping left and right, but after putting his hand in his pocket and leading the surrounding agents to think he had a gun, after Goldman shot an unarmed man – justified shoot or not – there was no way the White Collar investigator was going back to work.

After watching a man lose his mind from hopping from fake identity to fake identity…it had you thinking.  It had you tucked in a seat in the corner, by the smaller of the two tables as everyone else found spots that seemed _miles_ away.  You’d dug out an old sheet of paper, one edge rough like it had been ripped out of a bound book, and the edges frayed even though the eight-by-five sheet of paper had been tucked into a larger notebook.

That was to be expected, you’d drawn the picture on it when you were _eighteen._

“Is that a crow or a raven?” Spencer asked quietly, making his way past the seat he’d vacated for a cup of coffee and right to the one across from you.  You’d been quiet since the case was solved, but it couldn’t have been because William forced a situation where he was killed.

“My father was Irish.  His parents were Catholic, and as a teenage rebellion he found the old Irish gods and stuck with it.  Not really a surprise he and my mother got along, a Welsh woman raised by Celtic parents,” you joked half-heartedly as you looked at the old picture.  It had pulled on features of both black crows and ravens, as historians had trouble deciding if he was depicted shifting shape into a crow, a raven, or just a black bird in _general._

The bird in question was in flight, the edges of her tail and tips of her wings a bit splotchy like you’d dripped paint in those spots, some bits seeming more like the blue or violet gleam from pitch black oil than the black that colored most of the bird.

There was no doubt in your mind that Spencer knew Celtic mythology, you were running the risk of him at least _suspecting_ what your name was, but…

“I drew this when I knew I was going to be undercover, and I thought I’d hopping from name to name for the rest of my life.  It reminded me of who I was…who I _am_.”  You spoke softly, fingers carefully tracing over the paint that stained the thick paper from your old sketchbook.  It had started out as an ink drawing, but you’d ripped the page out and painted it after your first few months under your first false identity – _Corinne –_ and needed… _something_ to cling to.  “When I was young, mother told me every story of the goddess Morrigan.  While most girls grew up wanting to be like Wonder Woman or Batgirl, I wanted to be like a Celtic goddess.”

Specifically, the Celtic goddess of the _circle of life_ , one of the ‘triple goddesses’ in a mythology that saw great power in the number _three._   A woman commonly associated with _change,_ representing both life and death while being associated with war, destiny, and fate as well.  A gorgeous dark-haired shapeshifter who guarded over rivers, fresh water, and lakes.  A patron of revenge, magic, prophecy, night, and the priestesses and witches that held a lot of power among the old Celts.  She was vindictive, terrifying, linked to the festival of Samhain which gave birth to _Halloween_ as it’s known today, and had no qualms killing someone who simply _disrespected_ her – let alone _crossed_ her.  She was somehow everywhere, yet still a mystery, and said to sway battles by blanketing the army she’d blessed in a fog the opposing side could not traverse.

“That’s pretty easy to believe,” Spencer admitted, offering you a small smile when you looked up at him, “Even if you’ve got the wrong hair for it.”

You scoffed in response, rolling your eyes as you grabbed your nearby pen and tossed it at Spencer, who blocked the lazily tossed pen as the two of you laughed quietly.  Your gaze shifted to your phone once again, the voicemail you’d heard on your way from the field office to the airstrip saved and still running through your head.  There would be no tracing it, and the voice was too altered to even tell what the _accent_ was, but the message was still the same.

_“I found you, Morrigan.  It won’t be long until I find them too.”_


	46. What A Tangled Web We Weave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your past had come to haunt you face-to-face, and it was all you could do to protect the people already involved. The team was going to be involved whether you wanted them to be or not...
> 
> You just had to plan accordingly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next few chapters are going to be entirely original. I’ve gone through a few different versions and even wrote out a bit of a script designing each OC, what part they play, the plot of this arc, and any related twists.
> 
> ALSO: A WARNING.
> 
> Because it would be awkward to keep flipping back and forth between [Y/B/N] for your birth name or [Y/P/N] for your past name, I’m assigning Rea her birth name. Partially because, as you can probably guess from the ending of the last chapter, there’s symbolism behind it.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### What A Tangled Web We Weave

 

There was a point when operations became so classified, the briefing room looked more like a _situation room_.  There were no windows, no lines to the outside, specialists guarding the door, soundproofed walls and doors…

Yet, having recently turned 21-years-old, it was already far from the first time you’d been called to this specific briefing room.  You were, however, surprised they didn’t even give you a _hint_ as to what it was about.  When you sat down, when you saw the file you’d been ordered to read then leave in the room to be disposed of, you understood a bit more.

Moran had been a thorn in the side of _every_ international crime fighting organization for _years._   There was no telling whether or not Moran was his first, last, or _real_ name.  He ran multiple smuggling rings, human trafficking operations, had enough resources to push and pull entire governments in the EU, and the only business he _didn’t_ have a hand in was _armies for hire._

He was looking to change that, now that Valhalla no longer had a monopoly on the market.

Phillip Colovan, a middle-aged agent who had been passed over for the Valhalla operation due to complications on a mission in China, was the lead.  You’d worked with him before, on shorter term operations, especially during the beginning of your career, and he’d earned your trust as your handler.  His dark brown hair seemed to be a bit grayer, and it seemed as if he’d been running his hand through it out of stress.  That made sense, seeing as his green eyes seemed sunken in from a lack of sleep and there was more scruff than he usually allowed in his crisp appearance, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, and gray suit jacket already tossed over the back of the black chair positioned at the head of the deep oak table.

“Specialist,” he greeted you, his greeting a signal that you were about to have a different name.  That was hardly a surprise, you’d had the same name for a few months now.  It was about time for a change.  “Let me introduce you to Aiden Whitewood, the field hacker I’ve recruited for the job.  This will be a minimal operation, particularly for your safety.”

“Why?” you asked, taking a seat across from the man who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than you, messy pitch black hair matched with deep blue eyes.  He was handsome, you’d give him that, but he had the look of a rookie new to field work.  He was confident in his skills, but that seemed to be the only thing he was confident in as he sat back in his seat turned to face Colovan as the mission leader barely kept from pacing, but excited due to what _had_ to be inexperience.  You weren’t sure what Colovan was thinking bringing in a rookie, but it’s not like beggars could be choosers with field hackers.  There weren’t many, and having a field hacker didn’t guarantee that a technical analyst wouldn’t be involved.

You’d deal with that later.  Business first.

“You must know, this wasn’t my idea,” Colovan pleaded for forgiveness as he handed you the file containing what would be your identity for nearly a year.  You only read the first name before you shifted your gaze up to Colovan and snapped.

“You’re _fucking_ kidding me.”

Whose brilliant _fucking_ idea was it to make you return to the name _Morrigan?_

 

********

 

“Penny, I need you to do me a favor,” you requested as you stepped into Garcia’s lair, having already scribbled down the information she would need to track down the people you needed her to find.  She watched and waited, quiet and ready to help, as you handed her the slip of paper and explained.  “Could you update me on these people?  They’re old contacts just…be careful looking into them, and don’t tell anyone.”

“Sure thing, gorgeous…is everything okay?”  It was odd for you to ask for something like this, with or without an explanation, and the fact that you’d asked her to stay quiet like _that_ …

“Yeah, everything’s fine, I just like to make sure they’re alright every now and then.”  You sold your story with a smile and a shrug.  It wasn’t… _technically_ a lie.  You did like to keep an eye on them, specifically _two_ of them, but after everything that had happened…you _had_ to.

You made your way back to your desk, getting right back to work looking over files, completing reports, and completing the profiles local authorities had requested from all over the country.  It was a pretty average paperwork day, right down to having lunch with JJ and Penny as Emily was still out of town.  Spencer was stuck on a bit of a lecture circuit with Rossi and Emily.  You were originally supposed to go as well, but you’d been asked to substitute at the Quantico academy for two days during the trip and Hotch had switched you out with Emily instead.

You’d considered asking them instead of Penny, with their talks in New York they were closer to Boston than you were, but they had a strict schedule and no time for favors – let alone detours.

“How bad is it this time?” you laughed as you recalled the phone call from the evening before.

 _“You don’t even want to know.”_   Spencer meant that, he also didn’t want to _tell_ you.  The absolute _last_ thing he wanted to do was tell you about the teasing he’d been getting – from everyone _but_ Hotch – about just how obviously he’d fallen for you.  He couldn’t help but feel like everyone had been watching as he tripped over his own two feet and landed right on his face.

_Hard._

It was a painful metaphor, bit it was the only one that seemed to fit completely.  Seriously, looking back the whole thing had been a terribly ungraceful face-plant that had taken about as long as it took to buy you that one flower you’d probably tossed and forgotten about long ago.

“Is it the weird pizza?” you questioned as you made your way up the steps to your apartment, you’d spent all day sitting and needed to stretch your legs.  That was the story you’d give if any asked, anyway.  In reality, you knew just how easy it was to sabotage an elevator and weren’t about to be the idiot that took _that_ risk.  You’d even taken the stairs at the office, climbing all six floors in your heels to hide the fact that anything _might_ be wrong.

 _“Weird pizza?”_   He was almost scared to ask but…

“Yeah, sometimes Emily gets in this mood and orders some weird stuff on her pizza…maybe it’s good you have a heads up because I don’t think Rossi will just let that go…”

 _“Why do they keep sending me on these things?”_   Spencer was practically whining as he asked the question, he’d admit that, as he fell back on the hotel bed.  He heard some odd shuffling on the other end of the line, accompanied with the familiar grating click of a key being pushed into a lock.  “Am I on speaker?”

“Relax, the hall’s empty and I’m walking into my flat as we speak.  So, what _is_ the issue today?” you questioned in a teasing tone, nudging the door open as you held your phone below your chin with one hand and your gun up with another.  You’d known he had a partner, but Clyde swore they got the guy.  It couldn’t be a _hoax_ , the name Morrigan was strange enough and anyone who once knew you as that name thought you’d died.

Most of MI6 _included._

They had to.  It wasn’t just _your_ safety at stake.

The window was open…you never left the window open.

You also knew anyone experienced in infiltration wouldn’t leave that window open unless they _wanted_ you to know they were or had been there.

The luxury about your open apartment was there were _two_ places a stranger could hide, the closet and the bathroom.  _You_ knew where all the other hiding spots were, but _nobody else did._   You carefully checked the closet and bathroom, keeping an eye on the balcony and the ledge lining the structural shift from wall to vaulted ceiling, but nobody else was there – save for you and Sardine.  You slowly approached the window, checking the surrounding area to make sure nobody was perched nearby or on the opposite roof before getting close enough to close the window.

Now, you just had to see what they took…or _left_.

 _“[Y/N]?”_   Spencer had caught your unexpected silence, along with the sound of your window shutting and the lack of Sardine’s meowing after a long day left without attention.  He sat up at the edge of the bed when you hadn’t responded, brow furrowed as he waited.

“Sorry, got distracted wondering where Sardine is and I’m a bit hungry,” you brushed it off, explaining the sounds in your kitchen as getting food when you were really checking for bugs, traps, even a small explosive.  You were _starting_ there, but you’d be checking your entire flat until –

 _There_.

Nothing inherently dangerous.  Just a large envelope, sealed with only the metal prongs, containing photographs –

“Something came up, I have to go.”

 

********

 

Spencer didn’t have a chance to voice his confusion, or surprise, before the line went dead and he was left looking down at his phone.  He’d separated from Prentiss and Rossi _specifically_ for some time alone, and he suspected it would be a bit until they returned from the bar.  Even if the returned that instant…what was he ever going to ask Prentiss?  If she noticed anything odd?  This was the first time Spencer had noticed anything himself.  Bets were, if you got a call from either of the other profilers, you wouldn’t answer.  Would Morgan know?  Maybe not…should he call JJ or Garcia instead?

Wait…

Garcia…

She’d notice in a heartbeat, and she’d be the first to say something if there was reason for concern.  She’d also said something about a massive system overhaul that would take all week, maybe he could catch her at the office before she left.  He had gotten up from his seat at the edge of the bed, hadn’t even taken his shoes or tie off, and paced as he waited as the phone at Garcia’s desk rang…and rang…and rang…

_“You’ve reached Penelope’s World of Wonders and Wizardry.  How can I add some magic to your day?”_

“Hey, Garcia, uh…I was wondering if [Y/N] was acting…weird,” Spencer paused in his pacing as he tried to find the right way to ask the question, he hadn’t even _thought_ before calling the technical analyst.  He was working on a _whim_ , something he _never_ did, and clenched his jaw out of nerves.  “I just got off the phone with her and she seemed distracted, and she hung up out of nowhere.”

_“That is weird…”_

She said that like she was making a statement, not like she was musing in agreement or trying to think of anything that seemed odd…

“Garcia, she’s never acted like this before.  She tells me everything, if she’s acting like this…”  Spencer knew he was pushing and nudging Garcia into breaking a promise, no doubt she knew something and promised to keep it a secret.  He _knew_ he was actively using his professional knowledge and skills to manipulate a friend, but…it was you.  He needed to make sure you were alright, even if it just meant Garcia spilled that you’d been secretly dating some amazing guy and were getting married.

_Please don’t be that._

_“She gave me a list of people to look up.  Four names, two of them have socials and the last two have British passport numbers.  The first to stick out a little, a woman named Maribeth Westerworld and her son Micha, they live just outside of Boston.  She works from home, runs a daycare, and he’s – like – three years old,”_ Garcia got to work, briefing Spencer on what she’d found before she even told _you_ , treating it like any other case.  _“The other two used to be MI6 agents, so I’m not sure if these are their real names.  One of them is a guy named Phillip Colovan, he died on a mission, like three and a half years ago, looks like he divorced his wife a few years before that and she took their daughter and moved out of London.  The other guy, Aiden Whitewood, just disappeared about the same time.  I’m working on trying to find a trace, but I’m probably going to have to do the same thing I did with [Y/N]’s file and hack – “_

“What do you mean the _same thing you did with [Y/N]’s file?”_   Spencer caught that _immediately_ , standing frozen in his hotel room.

_“I…after everything…Strauss tried using Emily to spy on us, and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t trying the same thing with someone else, so I looked [Y/N] up.  I didn’t get everything, and I stopped when I found her exit interview from MI6 and found out why she left, but – “_

“Garcia,” Spencer cut in, firmly, and spoke calmly and carefully, “I need you to tell me everything you found.”

You’d been on edge since that case in Florida, staring at that old painting the entire flight back…you only turned to melancholy when something was bothering you, and this was a level of melancholy Spencer had _never_ seen you in.

There was absolutely _no_ guarantee, no _real_ evidence, that whatever was causing you this stress was even _remotely_ related to your former career as a spy, but _something_ had caused _you_ of all people to turn and run.  These other MI6 agents, they either died or disappeared around the same time you left and then you just asked Garcia to check up on them out of _nowhere._

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

_“It’s a lot…I’m gonna have to send it to you.”_

“Alright.  I’ll look over what you already found and try to get back in touch with [Y/N] while you keep digging.”


	47. When We First Practice to Decieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up writing this when I should have been sleeping, to the point that I went from sleepy to wide awake.
> 
> So, yeah, that happened.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### When We First Practice To Deceive

 

You sat on the hood of your car, an old black pickup parked outside the shining and shimmering restaurant in the center of Paris.  You definitely stuck out, cropped t-shirt layered over a violet skin-tight tank-top, and ripped black skinny jeans tucked into old and worn black boots.  Your hair was left loose, tousled and thrown over your shoulder, eyes lined in black and dark shades of violet, a lit cigarette lazily held between your fingers.

“You must be the Valkyrie I’ve heard so much about, making such a fuss in such a short amount of time,” Moran greeted as he left the glittering doorway behind and made his way closer to you, grimacing a little when he saw you and tugged on the sleeves of his crisp shirt under his off-white suit.  His hair was a neat black, mid-thirties, likely inherited the job and never did a day of dirty work in his life.  His accent…French side of the France/Switzerland border.

“And you’re the twat after my family’s business,” you retorted in shared distain, far more brash and blunt, taking a puff but not bothering to slide off the hood of your car to greet the international crime lord.  “I’ll give you one chance for a deal, _only_ because I hate the business side of shit.  We partner.  You manage getting the jobs, handling the money and customers, and I’ll deal with the men, even take the tougher jobs myself.”

“And why should I make a deal with _you_?”  He nearly spat in your face, born high class, very high and mighty.  Looked down on _everyone_.

“You’re looking to take over my father’s business.  You really think his men are going to listen to a spoiled little brat like you over their bosses daughter?” you scoffed as you slid off the hood of the car and made your way around to the driver’s side door, seamlessly dropping your cigarette and putting it out under your heel along the way.  “I’ve already proven I’m best out of the lot.  You try and get near them, they’re going to kill you _and_ all your men for the _fuck_ of it.”

You climbed into your truck and slammed the door shut, arm hanging out of the window as you started the car and left with a lazy, “Might want to think about it.  The boys are awfully fond of fire.”

“Can I come out now?”  The voice was muffled by the pile of blankets draped over the floor between the back seat and you laughed when you looked back to watch as Aiden’s head popped out from under the blankets with a goofy grin, his black hair tousled by the blanket as his laptop glowed from under the blanket he’d been cramped under.  “I get you’re a human pretzel and the size of a leprechaun, but my back is killing me, and I can’t feel my legs…or my ass.”

“I can do that for you when we get back to the hotel,” you promised with a playful giggle as Aiden _fell_ into the passenger’s seat more than climbed into it, having to resituate himself once he managed to get into the front half of the cabin.

“You keep flirting like that, and sooner or later I’ll actually fall for it.”

“Hopefully sooner, I have a thing for smart guys.”

Aiden froze when you shot him a flirty wink.

Wouldn’t be long now…

 

********

 

Putting together your _reputation_ had been a task in and of itself.  You’d reached a few men from your father’s organization, lieutenants you’d met a few times, and managed to talk them into getting you a few jobs.  Then, you had to make a plan with Colovan and Whitewood to make it look like you’d pulled off the job without actually breaking the law – relocating multiple potential victims in one way or another.  You’d had to put together hints of a paper trail, as _Morrigan_ had disappeared the second your father was arrested, but it wasn’t hard to convince anyone you knew when and how to disappear.

You _did_.  Your mother certainly knew how, and she was sure to teach you before she disappeared herself.  The combat training, that was all your father’s idea.

You’d managed it in a few months, an impressive feat, but also something only you could have pulled off.  Not just due to your skills, but because you had a _name_ and _lineage_ that giving you weight as it was left to assume you were born and raised for this world.

You _were_ , but you’d let your father’s men assume you were back to take over where your father left off when, in reality, you were trying to put a stop to it.  You weren’t young and foolish enough to believe you could put a stop to _all_ of it, but you could at least put an end to the part you felt… _responsible_ for.

You’d sent Hotch a quick text in the late morning about needing a few personal days, blamed it on cramps so he didn’t push the issue, and threw things into your car before taking off.  You’d text Garcia a bit later, telling her you needed her to take care of Sardine for a bit, and hopefully you’d be far enough gone that they couldn’t find you, save for the cell phone you’d thrown out the window of your car as you drove over the bridge heading north across the river.

It wasn’t that you wanted to leave the _team_ behind.  You just couldn’t risk being tracked.

All you could do was hope that – for fucking _once_ – Spencer checked his damn email.  You wished you could have sent those files to Emily…but she’d never remember all of them.  It was too many details, you lived it and you had trouble keeping it all straight.  If you were going to survive this, if _anyone_ was going to survive this, then someone had to clearly recall and remember the worst months of your life.

 

********

 

“We need to leave.  Now.”  Spencer didn’t wait, his bag already thrown over his shoulder as Prentiss and Rossi grabbed some complimentary breakfast.  He practically shoved the printed copies of Garcia’s snooping to Prentiss, and started to explain.  “[Y/N] asked Garcia to look up a few people yesterday, two of them were agents from her last mission at MI6, one of them she _had_ to have known was killed three years ago.”

“She could just be checking up on old friends or doing someone a favor,” Rossi warned, concerned but not _convinced._

“When I called Hotch he said that she was taking a few days off for _girl problems.”_

Emily immediately looked up from the pack of papers she was making her way through, deciding not to ask how they were unredacted, and agreed, “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“Exactly.”  Spencer was partially grateful he didn’t have to explain just _how_ he’d known your cycle ended just two weeks earlier.  “Morgan and JJ already checked her apartment, she’s not there and it looks like she packed a bag.  Two of the people she wanted Garcia to look up are in Boston, we’re meeting the rest of the team to start there.”

“She’s leaving a pretty obvious trail,” Rossi pointed out as he got back up, tossing the paper plate with his untouched breakfast and grabbing a muffin to go instead.  “If [Y/N] wanted to disappear, she’d be in a different country before we even noticed she was gone.”

“She wants us to follow,” Prentiss agreed, the half-read papers tucked under her arm as she prepared a coffee to go before going back upstairs with Rossi to grab their own go-bags.  “She doesn’t get spooked, not like this.  We need to move fast.”

There was something that really scared Prentiss in that report.  While the agency had clearly refrained from using your last name, your cover had clearly hinged on your real name.  Your _birth_ name.

_Morrigan._

There was no telling just what demons were coming after you, or the warzone you were desperately trying to prevent, and there was no telling just what secrets Prentiss would have to tell the others.  Your last name might not become part of it, hopefully your father wouldn’t be hinted towards as well, for your sake.  She had no idea just what had caused you to leave MI6, she’d had her own fill in the CIA and left.  She knew the job eventually wore you out, and any mission a _specialist_ walked away from was a damn _miracle._

The use of the name Morrigan had caught Spencer’s attention for a different reason.  That old painting you were staring at, the black bird, had a connection to the Celtic goddess of the same name who was commonly found in the shape of a crow or raven.  That had been after the case in Florida, that had been just over a week ago, and he’d…he’d never noticed.  Had you been planning for it to end up like this?  Or had you been planning on dealing with it yourself?

Back in Quantico, as the rest of the remaining team boarded the jet, JJ dialed Spencer’s number to fill him in on a development Garcia had _just_ tracked.  The second Reid and Garcia had made Hotch aware of just how _wrong_ things were, Hotch had ordered the technical analyst to watch your emails and phone.  You’d already tossed your cell into the river by that point, but there was no telling who would try calling _you_ , and there was a chance – a small chance – you might still use either your private or work email accounts.

The email issued to you by the bureau had just sent a series of large files, videos from what Garcia could tell, to _Reid’s_ email with the message: **FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.**

Until they had reason to believe you were abandoning them, or you were on the run from a crime you’d committed, they were going to do you the curtesy of following your lead.  After everything you’d been through with the team, after what you’d _done_ for the team, there was no reason to believe you’d just _leave_ like this.  Especially with the trail you were leaving behind.  Rossi was absolutely right, you could disappear into the wind and nobody would have the faintest clue you were even _gone_ before it was far too late to find you.

“Garcia’s tracking [Y/N]’s email, she sent a bunch of files before she left town, all of them right to your email account and it looks like you’re the only one she wants seeing them.  Garcia said they’re videos but didn’t watch any of them.”  JJ dropped her go-bag into the storage cupboard in the back, with the other go-bags before telling the pilot everyone was ready to go.  Hotch and Morgan were already seated at the table, going over the growing pile of files Garcia was digging up, focusing entirely on your last assignment, but it was taking time for her to filter through the fortress around the MI6 databases without getting caught.  Hotch had already ordered that there were _no_ cases until this was solved, and when JJ sat down with the other agents and clicked her belt for takeoff she started sifting through the papers as well.  “You’ve got a laptop, right?”

She was specifically referring to a bureau laptop, they were all outfitted with wireless hotspots that allowed them to connect to the internet without external Wi-Fi.

 _“Yeah, I’m getting it now.”_   Spencer’s voice was a bit strained, like he was reaching for something in the back of the black suburban issued to him, Rossi, and Prentiss for their – now cancelled – tour across colleges spanning from Maryland to New York.

 _“The hell are you doing in my bag?”_ Rossi snapped in the background.

 _“I need your headphones.”_   There was no argument beyond that, but JJ could swear she heard angry curses muttered in the background.  _“Alright, I’m logging in now.  I’ll see if I can find anything.”_

“We’ll let you know what we find in Boston.”

 

********

 

This was a risky move, riskier than what would normally be expected of you.  If you weren’t sure you had backup coming, a team that would follow the threads you kept leaving behind and eventually put this matter to rest, you wouldn’t be doing this at all.  Instead, you found yourself knocking on the door and looking into a familiar pair of dark blue eyes, surprised to see you at the door.

“Morrigan…”


	48. Betrayal Comes From The Closest Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven’t slept.
> 
> Oops.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Betrayal Comes From The Closest Allies

 

_You took a deep breath, looking directly into the camera, a bruise on your cheekbone healing and your long hair tied into a taut braided ponytail._

_“This is the first in a series of videos recording my actions during my time as a rogue agent.  My remaining contacts in MI6 and Interpol set up this secure server to store these files until MI6 completes their internal investigation and comes to the same conclusions I did.  My name…”  Your brow furrowed and your mouth hung open just a bit as you tried to figure out just what to say next, looking back to the camera to continue.  “For the purposes of my latest assignment, I was ordered to resume my identity as Morrigan and create a name in the underground as the Valkyrie, however I have recently begun to use the name [Y/N] [L/N] of my own volition.  The purpose was to make a name that could challenge Moran, an international crime boss that has eluded capture for nearly a decade.  He was looking to expand his business and run an organization of mercenaries for hire, as…my father’s daughter I had a higher chance of getting close to Moran by offering a partnership.”_

_“Moran used his own forces to attack the Trevelyan family, the richest family in the EU, for the purposes of taking their infant son and using him for the fortune he would inherit as an orphan.  My handler Agent Phillip Colovan, ordered me to attend the…dinner Moran was having in the Trevelyan manor, as his closest lieutenants would be there, and I was to eliminate them and remove the baby from the manor.”  You continued to report, the background filled with the dim lighting of a cheap motel room lit by neon signs outside, the wall behind you almost looked gray and the blankets on the bed you were sitting on didn’t look much different.  “I, myself, had met every member of Moran’s inner circle, save for two, and I noticed these two individuals were not present.  I informed Colovan of this, as there were no plans for the boy to be put under protection, and he informed me that he knew where the missing members were and had a second specialist dealing with them.”_

_“For security purposes, there were only ever three agents working the case.  I have yet to find any proof, but I suspect there was never a second specialist, and this entire investigation was a rouse for Agent Colovan to gain control of Moran’s business, gain the Trevelyan boy’s fortune…or both.”_

_“Agent Phillip Colovan has betrayed the agency, and framed me for his actions.  I intend to find proof, and the agents who assisted him.”_

 

********

 

During the drive from New York to Boston, all five and a half hours of it, Spencer hadn’t broken away from the series of videos you’d sent to him.  You’d hopped from city to city, barely able to do much of _any_ investigating as you were in a small French town one day and making your way to Venice the next.  You reported your activities, the well-being of the boy you hadn’t shown on video or given a name, and on harder days…

There were times you were tired, your walls cracked, and you saw no end in sight.

Days you doubted your contacts were really investigating on their own.  You hadn’t heard from them since you first took off, since they set up the server, and a few times you’d even questioned whether or not the server was really _safe._   You had mentioned the man who had set up the server, _Aiden Whitewood_ , the MI6 agent who had disappeared three years ago.  There were no leads on him yet, but at the moment they were more concerned with the civilians you’d asked Garcia to check on.

“We tried talking to her, but she just slammed the door in our faces after we said we didn’t have a warrant,” Morgan huffed in his seat at the small hotel room table.  Without an official case, the entire team was working off the clock.  The only reason they’d gotten away with using the jet was because Hotch had sold it off as looking into an _old missing person’s case_ that _may involve a murder_ for _research._   The whole research part was complete bullshit, but the rest of it wasn’t… _entirely_ untrue.  There was no way they could request any room be set aside at the local precinct _or_ field office.

Not with the amount of highly classified MI6 information laid out on the table.

So, they’d all checked into a local hotel and met in Hotch’s room, crammed around the small table filled with copies of files and an open laptop connecting them to Garcia while Reid continued to filter his way through the videos chronicling your time on the run.

“That was before she said she would report us to the bureau for harassment if we tried to talk to her again,” JJ added, just as downtrodden about the fact they’d gotten _nowhere._   There was no approaching the woman again, not after sundown, and they couldn’t even ask patrols to keep an eye on the place without an _official_ case.  “I know we don’t have anything to go on, but I think that’s [Y/N]’s mom.”

Reid perked up from watching the video on the second laptop, sitting in a cushioned chair a bit further back to focus on the videos themselves.  “Why do you say that?”

“She had brown hair and eyes, but I swear if you just add a few freckles and lighten her hair and eyes she would look _exactly_ like [Y/N],” JJ explained, _convinced_ she was right.

“Was she Welsh?”  You’d talked about your mother a few times, mentioned she was Welsh, and if the physical similarities were that extreme…

“Reid and I can try tomorrow, maybe one of us will know what to say,” Prentiss was getting just as exhausted, finding nothing of much use to help find _you_ , but there was a _lot_ to process.  “So, Maribeth and Micha Westerworld aren’t their original identities.  We know Micha is James Trevelyan, but we still have no clue who Maribeth is beyond the fact she looks like [Y/N].”

 _“It took me all day to figure out who Micha is.  I tried looking for Maribeth, but it’s like she just popped up out of nowhere,”_ Garcia’s tone was apologetic as she filled the rest of the team in on what she’d found on her end.  _“I was able to find out more about Phillip Colovan and Aiden Whitewood, and about as bad as we can expect.”_

“Who are they, Garcia?” Hotch already had a notepad and pen out, taking notes where he thought necessary.   _You_ were referred to in the files as _Morrigan_ , but you were also using the moniker _Valkyrie_.  There was Moran and ten other men who had been killed, none of which were officially suspects, Micha Westerworld who was born James Trevelyan, and Maribeth Westerworld who just… _appeared out of nowhere._

 _“Right, so Colovan was really killed as the result of an MI6 mission.  Thing is, he was killed after [Y/N] was reinstated for a total of two weeks, and it looks like she was only reinstated to track down Colovan to…uh…well, he was a bad guy.  A really bad guy.  The guy that took over for Moran after he died.”_   Garcia explained, avoiding actually saying that you’d been ordered to kill Colovan, but it’s not like the team wasn’t already aware of that.  Reid had paused the current recording he was going through, a particularly calm day in Switzerland, and stood up to stretch his legs and make his way over to the table where the rest of the team was crowded.

“Aiden Whitewood was also working the case, what happened to him?” Rossi questioned, leaning back in his seat as he tried to pick something out that could lead to answers.

_“MI6 equivalent of witness protection.  There’s evidence that he was specifically recruited to work the case because he’d been blackmailed by someone in Moran’s syndicate and while it was crippled, it wasn’t gone.  Anyone remaining could easily track down that information and use it against him, so Whitewood was relocated…somewhere.  I’m guessing [Y/N] knows where he is.”_

“She kept a video diary while she was on the run, it sounds like Whitewood set up the server she saved the videos on,” Spencer offered a snipped of all the information he’d gathered so far.  If there was much of anything else useful, he’d offer it, but for the moment he wasn’t even half way through and he didn’t have anything beyond what was already on the table.

“It says he was a _field hacker_ and Colovan was suspected to be working with a technical analyst.  What’s the difference between the two, baby girl?” Morgan keyed in on the details separating Whitewood from _whoever_ had spooked you.

_“Right, so technical analysts can hack into just about everything remotely.  The problem comes up when there’s too many firewalls or a security system that will track the hack right back to you.  MI6 is aware of that, so they have field hackers who basically sneak into a building to plug into the server towers directly.  They’re also the ones that sit in the van and hack into nearby security cameras to keep an eye on specialists, which is what [Y/N] was.  They’re trained in combat and firearms on top of hacking, so there aren’t a lot of them, they’re used sparingly, and based on what I can see of Whitewood’s work they’re not a good at the technical stuff.”_

“Did they ever have a suspect?” Hotch was looking with someone to start with, some sort of lead to follow.  Hell, maybe even a name to give _MI6_ and snap at them to _look again_ or _he’d do it for them._

_“No.  Whoever it was didn’t follow standard protocol at the Trevelyan Manor either.  They were supposed to hack into the security systems and track [Y/N]’s movements, but instead they shut the entire thing down and deleted all the data after Moran’s assault.”_

“But the assault on Moran and his men went directly against orders, if they were really setting [Y/N] up they’d keep it as evidence she’d gone rogue,” Prentiss countered the original theory with the oddity of it all, the lack of the very event that sent you into hiding, leaning her elbows on the small table as she held her pen in both hands, by the ends.

“What if they never found the technical analyst because he turned on Colovan?” Reid proposed, hands in his pockets as he thought aloud.  “The original plan was to frame [Y/N] for the whole thing, but the analyst decided to make his own move for the syndicate and turned on Colovan, catching [Y/N] in the middle.”

“It says Moran’s syndicate was worth a few _trillion_.  The Trevelyan’s money would have doubled that, but that’s already a _lot_ of money on the line,” JJ offered some supporting evidence to the theory, as crazed and… _spy-movie-ish_ as it sounded.  “But where was Whitewood when this whole thing went down?”

“From the videos, it sounds like [Y/N] was already suspecting something was wrong, but didn’t think Colovan would do something as extreme as defying direct orders.  She might have warned Whitewood and told him to go into hiding ahead of time.”  Reid was sluggish, he hadn’t slept since the night _before_ he’d last spoken to you, and he was constantly fighting off the paralysis of _fear._   You were _counting on him_.  You were _depending_ on him.  _Specifically_ him.

That was the only reason he was able to keep going, as you ran off and fought demons possibly more dangerous than anything the rest of them had ever encountered before.

“Maybe...or maybe Colovan lied to Whitewood.  An operation like this, MI6 never would have approved of it without a field hacker, I’m surprised they approved it _at all_ ,” Prentiss admitted as she sat back, holding her copy of the reports up just enough to look at the front page in thought, pulling on her own experience in the CIA and working with MI6.  “It sounds like they were working with a skeleton crew, but they’d taken down smaller game with bigger teams from multiple agencies.”

“And another question joins the growing pile,” Rossi breathed out in frustration, tossing his pen onto the table in the closest thing to a tantrum _anyone_ would be allowed until this was all… _resolved_.

Spencer took a deep breath as the frustrated and uncomfortable silence settled over the team, looking out the window into the city of Boston, only on question sticking out to him despite the growing pile.

_Where the hell are you?_

 

********

 

“What are you doing here?  How – how did you find me?” Aiden asked as he poured the two of you cups of tea out of the same pot, offering cream or sugar you politely declined.  “I didn’t think anyone knew where to find me.”

“You talked about having family in the area once, and you get sentimental,” you answered, that last bit a light tease as you took a cautious sip of the hot tea as Aiden took a seat across from you at the small table.  His hair was a bit longer, a bit messier, and he’d let the dark scruff to grow in along his jaw giving him an older and more mature look.  He wasn’t buried in oversized hoodies with the sleeves rolled up anymore, and while he still sported a t-shirt with a faded _AC/DC_ logo, his jeans didn’t have any holes in them.

“None of us can be as cold and distant as you,” he teased in return, his attempts at mimicking a stoic tone interrupted by his chuckles, though he really could have pulled it off with his _high class_ British accent.  “Knowing you, this isn’t a… _social call._ ”

“Social call?  Is that what you’re calling sex these days?” you casually sat back and sipped at your tea, smirking when Aiden snorted into his own tea and had to put the cup down.

“And here I was going to ask how your mother’s doing,” Aiden groaned through the burn in his sinuses as he reached for the roll of paper towels on the table.

“That’s a very good question…”


	49. Breath.  Calculate.  Act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got some sleep after I got my sister onto the shuttle to her day program. A handful of hours, but better than nothing. Had to get back up cause she gets back in the afternoon.
> 
> I need a healthier sleep schedule…I should probably start taking sleeping meds cause I have trouble getting to sleep, but the meds make me drowsy and loopy for a whole 24 hours so I really hate taking them.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Breath. Calculate. Act.

 

_You looked exhausted, yesterday’s mascara was today’s eyeliner as yesterday’s eyeliner had become today’s eyeshadow.  Your hair was tied into a sloppy bun, you’d barely taken the time to change into clean clothes, your eyes were sunken in and bloodshot, you looked paler and thinner than when the whole thing started…and there was still no sight nor sound of the baby…of Micha…_

_“We made it to Berlin to meet with a contact who says he has information on Colovan, but that’s not what I’m looking for anymore.  If it was only Colovan, he’d never have been able to get the drop on me.  Someone was able to get the mission itself approved, and Colovan never managed that kind of influence in the agency.  He has more connections, the trick is finding out who the most dangerous one is…or who any of them are.”_

_You took a deep breath, and continued.  “I’m worried about Whitewood as well.  I was trained for something like this, but Whitewood…this was never something he was prepared for in training.  He’s already gone far above and beyond what is expected of a field hacker, gaining access to an entire server to secure these files until it’s safe to turn them in as evidence.  I offered to at least check in on him regularly, but he insisted he would be fine if we went our separate ways.”_

_Your sweater was practically wearing you, and you shifted it a bit to sit more comfortably, revealing the healing bruise along the base of your neck.  It appeared after you went to Russia, tracking down one of Moran’s business partners and forcing your way to him to get some answers._

_“Worst of all, he insisted he’d be safe in the UK, which is easily the most dangerous place for us to be.  He might as well be waltzing into the lion’s den, but I suppose he’s not in as precarious a position as I am.  Not even sure what he’d be charged with, they’d likely just believe I tricked him…odd man.  Loves heights, hates crowds, loves being in the middle of nowhere but buries himself in tech.”_

_There was a lengthy pause as you allowed yourself to continue your less…calculated thoughts._

_“I thought I could trust Colovan…I must have missed something…”_

 

********

 

Prentiss was already on her second cup of coffee by the time she was driving her and Reid down the streets to the Boston suburbs Maribeth Westerworld lived with her son Micha.  It wasn’t unheard of for a woman Maribeth’s age to have a three-year-old son, if she really was your mother she would have been a teenager when she first had you, but the only resemblance between her and Micha was their race and Micha’s bright red hair and hazel eyes weren’t something that was easy to miss.

It had to take some work to disappear, so what was so dangerous that [Y/N] would throw all that work away by leaving such an obvious trail for the team to follow?

You had to know whoever – or _what_ ever – you were running from could be following that trail as well.

“You get any sleep last night?”  It was a waste of a question, something to talk about in the already tense atmosphere after exhausting any working theories.

“No,” Spencer didn’t even bother lying, mostly because he knew Prentiss didn’t get any sleep either.  Spencer had gotten _ready_ for bed, continued with his routine, but sat on the bed in his hotel room and finished watching the last of the videos in the early morning.  He’d hurriedly scribbled things, _behavioral_ things, that had caught him by surprise.  Maybe it was simply because you didn’t know them but…

If this was only months before you started at the FBI, why did it seem like you were far more open in those last few recordings?  And your physical behaviors as you spoke candidly…they were just _barely_ off from what you normally did.  You’d brush some hair back without further playing with it, you’d look down at your twiddling thumbs looking downtrodden with no trace of the little pout that would fall on your features, your _eyes_ would shift to the side but your head wouldn’t tilt to the side as well.  The camera was focused on your face and never seemed to show more than your collarbone, but from what he could tell you weren’t even tapping your foot against the ground or air.

It was all so…

“Did you learn anything from those videos?” Prentiss asked carefully, slowly, like she was bothered by the fact _she_ hadn’t been the one…she would have understood.  Why couldn’t you trust her with that?  What was so –

Spencer had been glued to those videos like they were pure lifeblood, stopping only to discuss the case or continue a daily routine you’d snap at him for ignoring.  You couldn’t have known Spencer would cling to those last traces, so there must have been another reason sent them to _him._   Just what were you planning?

“She seems more open in the last few, talking about the others involved more personally, but her behavior patterns are… _off_.  They’re not far off from what she naturally does, but they’re just a little bit… _wrong.”_

Prentiss was still mulling it about, playing catch-up with figuring out your plan on top of everything else, while the rest of the team remained at the hotel to sift through the new pile of documents Garcia had managed to dig up.  If that was all you wanted, you could have sent those videos to anyone on the team.  Profiling wasn’t something that just _stopped_ , it became something you noticed even when you’d promised not to do it, everyone on the team knew that.  It was all a series of twists and turns –

A series of twists and turns only one person would be able to keep straight.

“You think she knew who Colovan’s partner was?”  Prentiss asked the question as she threw the suburban into park at the curb in front of the Westerworld house an idyllic two-story painted a pale blue and white with a white fence around the perfectly maintained lawn with toys scattered about.  There were a few other cars parked outside, likely the others who worked at the daycare run from the home.

“She knew more than she put in those videos, and I don’t think Micha was with her.  _Months_ of those videos and not once was there a crying baby or sight of any baby stuff, and in the last few she was keeping weapons on the bed.”  Spencer ran a tired hand through his hair, as tamed as it was going to get, and Prentiss noticed the bright orange and pink striped hair band around the genius’ wrist.  She could have _sworn_ that was yours…

“I already told you fuckers – “ Maribeth stopped in the middle of her angry rant as she yanked the door open, the car and guns at the agent’s side enough proof that she was once again dealing with FBI, but she froze when she saw them.  “Emily Prentiss?”

That took both the agents by surprise, causing them to share a look before looking back at the woman who’d been so close to cursing them out in her thick Welsh accent.

“I’ll pack bags for Micha and I, and I have to make sure the girls are prepared to handle things while I’m gone.  We’ll be ready to leave in a moment.”

 

********

 

“My daughter said Agent Prentiss would be here if something happened, I didn’t know she’d be accompanied by a _team_ ,” Maribeth admitted, sitting with most of the team at the table in Hotch’s hotel room as JJ and Rossi took Micha to get some lunch for everyone, letting him play with the siren and listening to him talk about the stories he’d heard about his big sister.  “The picture she showed me was from a few years ago, but she made sure I recognized you.  Is this about Colovan or her father?  She’s never had good luck with _father figures.”_

“As far as we know, it’s just Colovan, but we think he was working with someone else that is after you and…uh…”  Spencer reached a pause when he realized he wasn’t sure _what_ to call you.  To him, you were [Y/N].  You always would be.  To your mother…where you [Y/N] or Morrigan?

“[Y/N] isn’t the name I gave her, but it’s the name she chose.  That carries far more weight than a name assigned to her before she even had _hair_ ,” Maribeth was entirely unbothered, the clinking of her spook tapping the sides of her tea while she mixed in the honey packets she’d gotten up to track down on her own volition.  They’d only noticed she was gone for a _second_ before she was making her way back into the room, having told the manager a story about how she’d lost the key and needed to get her camera or she’d miss her only chance to take photographs with her husband’s only remaining family.

_The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree._

“Heavens know I’ve never been Maribeth before…well, not _this_ spelling anyway.  I used the name _years_ ago in Morocco, but I was on vacation and that was before Micha,” Maribeth joked lightheartedly as she tapped her spook against the lip of her mug before carefully placing it on the napkins she’d grabbed and taking a sip.  “[Y/N] is in the wind, our best chance at finding her is following the trail she left behind.”

“In her reports, she seemed worried about a man named Aiden Whitewood, he was a field hacker working the same case.”  Spencer had taken the lead talking to Maribeth, “But she put Micha in your care before MI6 cleared her.”

“It was the first thing she did.  She was acting as bait to gather the attention away from Micha and I so I could do my own digging around.”  For someone who didn’t seem to have held a badge in her life, Maribeth was rather…gifted.  More likely than not, she was a con woman – con _artist –_ and a grifter.  There was no _proof_ , unbeknownst to them that was because her record was cleared before being _erased_ when Micha was officially put under her care.  The boy was worth a few _trillion_ dollars, and dangerous men had already murdered to try and get him.  “She acted like she was sweet on the Whitewood boy, but I know a play when I see one.  She wouldn’t have left Micha with me if she really trusted him.”

“But he’s the one that set up the server she used,” Morgan spoke up, leaning back against the windowsill in an attempt to step away from the growing pile of records.  More players getting involved, more agents, more criminals, over a dozen different countries, Interpol was called in to assist by the second month you were on the run which added even _more_ names to the pile…

“The first step in getting the drop on a mark is making them think you’re harmless.  Men never want to believe a woman is smarter than them, she needed to look helpless and fragile and she knew she’d have to play dumb to pull that off.  As terrified as I was, it worked a charm,” Maribeth further explained the plan behind your months on the run, crossing her denim clad legs and lightly tapping the toe of her sneakered foot against the air.  “I taught her how to disappear to _find_ me, not to go off on her own and fight off an army.  If I get my hands on the bastard that did it…”

“What happened to Whitewood?” Hotch asked, looking to find the man that Garcia was still working to track down, her frenzied typing clearly heard from the chat window on the laptop.  She’d even had Kevin on the phone to _make sure_ she hadn’t missed something.  He asked what the case was, but after Garcia said it was for you all questions stopped.  She’d drop everything for a member of the team, and there was no use questioning further, so he dropped everything to offer what help he could.

“Disappeared, MI6 witness protection, but she kept looking for him.  She knows where the MI6 safehouses are, she seemed convinced he was in the states - ”

“Whitewood’s the guy we’re looking for.  She went to him to keep him from going after her mom and Micha and buy us time.” Spencer shot up from his seat and grabbed the car keys on the table, making his way to the door without a clue where he was going, ignoring Hotch’s attempts to try and stop him.

“Prentiss, Morgan, work with Garcia and Maribeth to find [Y/N], start off with a list of MI6 safehouses in the area, hack into MI6 if you have to.”  Hotch gave the order as he got up to leave with Reid, dodging JJ, Rossi, and Micha in his rush to get down the hall.

_“[Y/N] got a random call from an unknown number.  I’ve been trying to trace it, but the phone’s shut off.  I might be able to dig up its history to narrow down the search…”_

“Take a moment,” Maribeth cut in, placing her cup of tea back onto the table.  “Breath, calculate, act.”

 

********

 

“Reid – _Reid!”_

“ _What?”_   Reid turned to face Hotch, irritated he’d been stopped.  He looked like he’d been working the same case for a week, when it had been less than two days.  His sweater had lasted about five minutes before being thrown aside completely, his tie tugged loose, and sleeves rolled up.

“Do you even know where she is?”  Hotch wanted to find you too, the whole team did, but there was no telling just where you’d gone.

“In the videos, she talked about Whitewood a _lot_.  She was planning ahead, documenting everything she knew about Whitewood in case…”  No.  _No._   You were going to make it out of this.  “He avoids people, he tries to play it off as being socially awkward but it’s a cover.  He sees himself as _above_ everyone else, surrounded by pawns to play in a game, even Colovan was nothing more than a pawn even though he was Moran’s _right hand._   He’d want to be nearby, if Maribeth is right he already knows she and Micha are in the area, and he wouldn’t let MI6 onto the fact _he’s_ the hacker they’ve been looking for.”

“Why wouldn’t [Y/N] say anything?  After MI6 and Interpol spent months wrongfully accusing her of international crimes, they’d at least _listen_ if she pointed them in Whitewood’s direction.”

“She was _suspicious_ , but she didn’t have any _proof,_ and they’d put Whitewood through the same thing.  They weren’t about to investigate either one of them, no matter what she said.”  Spencer argued his point, prepared to just get into the car and drive off, knowing you’d snap at him from doing something so stupid was about the only thing keeping him from doing just that.  “The trust issues she had when she first joined the team, the issues she _still_ has?  You really think she’d tell MI6 _anything_?  She couldn’t even keep working for them anymore, especially with the contacts Whitewood _has_ to have.”

“If she said anything to MI6, he’d know and go after her, she must have known it was a matter of time until Whitewood caught up.”

“That’s why she’s _buying us time._   Whitewood is most comfortable at heights, looking down at his surroundings, but he hates being around people or busy cities.  There aren’t a lot of places like that in the area.”  Spencer stepped around the front of the car to get into the driver’s seat, Hotch wasn’t about to argue.  There was _no_ arguing with Reid when he got like this, it was a miracle he was waiting for the team at all.

“Garcia,” Hotch waited just long enough for the technical analyst to answer her phone.

_“I’ve got the phone call tracked to a general area, but that’s as close as I can get, none of them show up in any of the MI6 list.  Maribeth actually laughed when she found out we were serious about checking the agency’s database…”_

“Where are we headed, Garcia?”

 

********

 

You’d heard the cars, noticed the changes in Aiden’s behavior.  He was far from the sweet and awkward guy you’d first met, the young man who found confidence in his abilities and intelligence.  You’d seen through the façade quickly, like he was directly designed for _your_ tastes.  He shifted to cold, calculated, and kept his distance in the small house.  You heard the car doors slam shut, caught the shadows shifting through the sheer curtains drawn across the windows in an attempt to feign caution based on fear.

“You’re such a pretty girl, if you’d just let it all go, we could have kept it going, you would have made such a sight as a queen of the underworld.  What we had was real, wasn’t it?”  It was an overly feigned sorrow, he was putting on an act to let you know he knew.  You were never going to stick around, it had taken Aiden – or _whatever_ his name really was – months to figure that out after you’d already left for the states.  You’d successfully conned him.  _Him_.  How _dare_ you?  Just who id you think you were to challenge him?

You may have a pretty face, but you were still _vermin_ stopping him from _his_ right.

Moran had stolen his father’s syndicate, Valhalla had agreed to assist in getting it back only for the fool to be arrested because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.  Now he’d nearly fallen to the same trap.  That was when it hit.  That was when it _really_ hit.

You had been the one to deliver the information on Valhalla, the intelligence that was too good to pass up.

You were just some little goodie-two-shoes that actually believed your duty was to protect the weak and clueless lambs that were nothing but _toys_ to be manipulated.

“You don’t really equate love with sex, do you?  Because that’s just _pitiful._ ”  You sat back crossing your legs so you could grab the knife tucked into your knee-high boot.  You had your gun, but reaching for it would take away your control of the field if you made the first overt move.

You took a breath.

Men were located at every entry point.  You had a clear shot to Whitewood, but you would immediately become the human equivalent of _swiss cheese_ if you did that.  You could easily duck down, pull the agent at the window behind you through the glass and use him as a shield while throwing your knife to the agent located at the front door behind you and to your right.  They likely had semi-automatic weapons, buying one was as disturbingly easy as buying a gallon of _milk_ in some states, but you could use it to even the odds as you ran for the stairs.  It would be a quick escape, you might strain an ankle using one of the upstairs windows to get out, but it would place you on the outside while everyone else was grouped together inside.

“ _Love_ ,” Whitewood scoffed in disgust.  “You don’t actually believe in that trash, do you?  I thought you were smarter than that.”

Wait for it…

You heard the doorknob turn, the lock on the window behind you slowly turn into the unlocked position, saw the faint outline of shadows through the curtains opposite you shift.

“You’d be surprised what smart people are willing to believe.”

_Duck._


	50. Agent of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of this arc ended up being split up into two chapters cause flow is a tricky thing.  
> My cat was rubbing up against the screen of my laptop. I made the mistake of assuming he’d be okay if I left the house for the day. Apparently, I was wrong because now he’s meowing at me – loudly – and pawing at me when he’s not rubbing up against my laptop or just plopping himself down in the most inconvenient spots.
> 
> Super short chapter, I know, but the ending was bitching so…yeah.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Agent of Change

 

You’d been cut off on your way up the stairs, some of Whitewoods goons had slipped into open windows at the back of the house and you’d had to duck to the side to get a bullet in the _shoulder_ instead of the _chest._   You were forced into a tight-quarters battle, dashing out the open window would create a bottle-neck effect and allow the men to fire in your _general_ direction and _inevitably_ hit you.  So, you had to duck to the side and behind a wall as you grabbed a semi-automatic from the ground and pick your shots carefully.

“You were named after a deity of _change_ , and yet you’ve changed _nothing.”_

There was no way you were getting out unscathed, and it would be a miracle if you got out _alive_ , but that wasn’t the _point._   You _wanted_ Whitewood dead, but if you were going to get any intel he had to be taken in _alive._

“Your father said you were better than this!” Whitewood announced over the hailstorm of bullets, causing a chill to rush over your skin.  No.  Your father was locked away.  In _Russia._   Even if he got out, he’d be killed in seconds.  There was no breaking out.  “You just can’t trust anyone, can you?  You’re a little demon fighting on the side of the angels, just waiting to be stabbed in the back.  There’s no future for you.  You’re too determined to be good, you can’t pay people to help you, and you can’t trust the idiots you’re surrounded by.  You were _always_ going to die _alone._ ”

“Give it a bit!  My mother isn’t fond of strangers or feds, and she’s just had to meet a handful of strange feds telling her I’ve taken off,” you retorted, ducking back down after taking a few carefully aimed shots, “Besides, it’s rush-hour traffic, there’s only so much a siren can do, you know.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

No, but that didn’t change the fact you weren’t _lying_ about backup being on the way.

At least…you _hoped_ it was.  You’d drawn it out as long as you could, Whitewood and his men could easily be detained for breaking American _federal_ laws, you just…

You had to hold out…

You’d faced worse than this.  You had more room to maneuver, but it had certainly been worse.

You could do this.

If you didn’t…

The team, your mother, and eventually _Micha_ would be next.

 

********

 

There weren’t a lot of houses in the area.  There weren’t a lot of _buildings_ in the area, and some of them weren’t even occupied.  Morgan and Rossi had hopped into a second suburban, leaving JJ and Prentiss to make sure Maribeth and Micha would be safe, and sped through the city to the outskirts to catch up.  They were still a few minutes out, but not far behind.

It was taking time just to drive _past_ all the houses, but Garcia found something that caught her attention as she took a look at the satellite photos and municipal records regarding electricity and water use in the area.

_“There’s a cabin for rent in the area, nobody’s living there but there’s been a massive spike in electricity and water usage.”_

“Where?”  Reid steered the car around a winding road as quickly as he could without toppling the whole thing.

_“Not far, at the end of Woodridge road there’s a gravel road.  Take the third right and it’ll take you right to it.”_

It was out of the way.  On the _edge_ of the quadrant Garcia pinged the cell phone in, but that had to be it.  It was out of sight, out of mind, and if there was a gunfight –

_Dammit._

_Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit._

_Shit._

Broken windows, eerie silence, and the front door was _wide open._

 

********

 

You’d had better days, you’d admit that.

There was no cover that would actually _stop_ a bullet, and the close-quarters meant you’d have to peak out of cover not just to take shots, but take out the hired guns with your knife.  You were still alive, though, and Whitewood wasn’t about to leave until he knew you were dead.  He was confident with an overinflated ego, but he wasn’t _stupid._   He knew leaving you alive would only come back to bite him in the ass.  What he didn’t know was you had your own backup coming, and now that he was the only one left standing.

The bullet in your thigh had likely grazed your bone, but you didn’t think it actually _hit_.  You were losing a _lot_ of blood though, nicked the artery, and actually _standing_ would cause you to black out and bleed out – assuming Whitewood didn’t just get up and shoot you in the head.  You crawled down low, you’d fired at Whitewood through his cover behind the now tattered couch enough that you’d given yourself enough time to move further down the hall.

Your vision was hazy, but you had to make sure he wouldn’t be able to just _take off._   Whatever happened to you, you had to make sure Whitewood was still there when the team arrived.

Your shoulder and arm throbbed, you’d taken a few hard hits, but you had to keep going.

Both your handgun and stolen semi-automatic were out of ammunition, and the closest gun was further down the hall.

You were almost there.

_Just a bit more…_

You couldn’t quite register what happened.  You saw Whitewood leaning out of cover, bringing up his own gun as your fingers brushed the matte black weapon you were reaching for.

You never heard the gunshot…

You never felt it…

You weren’t registering much of anything, to be honest…

All you knew was Whitewood was wrong.

You’d changed _everything_ , and that was what mattered.


	51. Don't Make It Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a nod to the lyrics of 'Hey Jude' by The Beetles, which is also quoted again later in the chapter.
> 
> This was also supposed to be done a lot sooner...but things happened that kept those plans from happening.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Don't Make It Bad

 

_I promised…I promised myself this wouldn’t happen._

_We work together.  We chase down some of the sickest killers by getting into their minds.  Some of them even take it personally._

_What happened to Hotch…I don’t think I could survive that._

_But then, at four in the morning, as the two of us talked and laughed over nothing at all, I was happy.  I was truly happy for the first time in…forever, maybe.  I was happy just being there, with you, lounging on my couch as the rain fell against the windows and the cat draped himself along the back of the couch and snored._

_I swore this would never happen._

_Now…here I am…a tattered thread the only thing keeping me alive…I know it’s an impossible fight, I lost too much blood in too much time, I was just barely conscious when you found me and the only thing keeping me going was silencing the last ghost of my past._

_I can rest now.  I’ve done my part._

_But then there’s you._

_Your clothes covered in my blood, sitting by me in the ambulance and sitting like a statue in the waiting room._

_Am I just imagining things?  Maybe…maybe it’s just my guilt wearing on me because I know my absence will hurt you the most.  We’d grown to depend on each other, lean on each other, that’s just how we survive –_

**_Survived._ **

_I’m not sure if I’ll make it but…I’ll try…_

_I know you don’t believe in an afterlife, as much as you enjoy fictional stories of wonder you aren’t about to believe any of them, and you’d never sign up to believe in something as fantastical as an afterlife.  There’s no science, no logic, nothing tangible to prove it._

_Still…I like to believe in it…I like to believe everything I didn’t give up everything just to end up a forgotten corpse in the ground…and if I’m right, I’ll be able to see you.  I’ll be able to see you hurting, and I’ll know I did that…and I’ll wish for eternal damnation if that meant you could just forget the pain…_

_I promised myself this wouldn’t happen, I prepared myself for a life alone, but I never could have prepared myself for you._

_You’ll go through my things to help pack them away, you’ll find the flower pressed between the pages of an old leather-bound book, and you’ll know I was already falling for you long before I remembered how to trust._

_You’ll know, wherever I am, that I love you and if you’re going to be as happy as I desperately want you to be…_

**_I can’t let you know._ **

 

********

 

It wasn’t odd for Spencer to go into a dangerous situation with his gun already drawn, especially after he wasn’t able to escape firearms training anymore, but his first defense was _always_ trying to diffuse the situation.  He remained a _‘talk first, avoid shooting’_ type of agent…save for this time.

He saw you, reaching for a gun, he saw Whitewood peering around his cover to shoot you, so he aimed, and he fired.

“[Y/N]!” he rushed to your side, your fingers resting on the butt of the gun, but your eyes shut and your skin was paler and cold.  Your breath was shallow, your heart rate was racing to supply what little blood you had left to the rest of your body.  He kicked himself for leaving his sweater back at the hotel, he could have used it to slow the bleeding in your leg, tie it around your thigh like a tourniquet, but he’d just have to settle for flipping you over and applying pressure.  You had another gun shot wound in your shoulder, the bullet was still lodged there and there was a chance your left shoulder would never completely recover.

Hotch was snapping at the dispatcher for an ambulance, giving directions and telling them what to expect.  You were already unresponsive…

Shock.  It wasn’t the blood loss that would kill you.  The _shock_ would do that long before the blood loss.

You were just brushing the safe side of the line between life and entering shock when he’d been separated from you, the EMTs rushing you onto a gurney and down the hall before Spencer could even get out of the ambulance.

Now he was just sitting there, in the private waiting room the girl at the front desk had grabbed for the team after seeing that Spencer’s pants and shirt were stained with a _lot_ of your blood.  He was just as unresponsive as you had been, just sitting and leaning back against the wall as he stared off into space with an unreadable expression.  All logic, all the facts and statistics, just flew out of his mind like a suitcase flung out of a window, and he had no control over where his mind went.

_You’re strong, you’re a fighter.  You’ll make it._

_But…what if you don’t?_

_That could kill him…_

_But…_

_Would losing you kill him?_

_Or the knowledge that you died alone?_

_Or would it be the fact you never really knew just how much you would always be loved, even long after you died?_

Everyone sat in silence and waited.  JJ had kept Garcia on speaker phone, but even she was quiet.  The only one who said anything was little Micha, who only knew he was in a room of sad and nervous people and didn’t know what to do.  He was a sweet boy, bright red hair a bit of a mess no matter how many times Maribeth brushed it, and his dark green eyes still shined with youthful hope and naivete his freckles only highlighted.

Spencer was brought out of his daze when Micha made his way over to the genius, having remembered JJ said something about magic tricks, so the young boy asked to see a magic trick.

Little Micha would have no idea what you’d gone through for him…all he’d know is that people wanted to use him for his money, not once fully comprehending that there were people like you in the world.  People who would drop everything, who would throw safer plans into the fire and put their own life on the line for a stranger in need.

“She’s strong…” It wasn’t clear if Maribeth was talking to herself or everyone else.  “She’ll make it.”

Maribeth was right, you were – and always would be – strong, but there was so much more to you than that.

 

********

 

_Hey Jude, don’t let me down_

_You have found her, now go and get her_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

 

Spencer had heard the song drifting from the open windows of your car as he got out of his own.  You’d been scarce for the last few days, you’d been _told_ to take the next few days to cool off after the internal investigation into the Foyet disaster, and you’d been _told_ to take them.  Nobody had heard much from you over the last few days, even Prentiss’ messages had gone unanswered, and it had been long enough that there was at least _some_ reason for concern.

Spencer had decided to seek you out on his own, he’d driven by your apartment only to see there was no sign of your car in the building’s small parking lot, he ran through the places you might be.  There was an Irish pub you liked to go to, but there was no way anyone in the small family-run business would go without asking what was wrong.  It was too late for you to be at the museum, bookstores, or cafes you liked…

There was one spot…Spencer had never been there himself, but he certainly knew about it.  It seemed like the kind of place you’d frequent, and it was worth checking the hill overlooking the city.

He was right to check, when he arrived he saw you sitting on the hood of your car, lying back against the windshield as you listened to music and watched the stars above.  He didn’t do anything like ask if you were alright, just made sure you knew he was there with a soft _hey_ before taking your invitation to join you on the hood of your car.

You’d barely bothered with getting dressed, a short blue cotton dress decorated in small white flowers matched with black flats and an old blue cardigan that was too big for you.  You didn’t chase him off, but you clearly weren’t feeling like talking about what was running through your mind.  You’d open up when you were ready, and he wouldn’t push, but he would strike a conversation you’d enjoy.

“Did you see the new episode?”

“One of these days there will be an episode that doesn’t end in a cliffhanger and it’ll only be so they can trick us into thinking everything is okay just before they destroy the whole world – _literally_.”

 

********

 

“Agent [L/N]?”  The surgeon stepped into the waiting room, teal scrubs crisp and white surgical mask hanging around her neck.  She kept her composure as the occupants of the room crowded around her, she had experience dealing with concerned family and friends.  “She lost a lot of blood and was just barely on the good side of shock, but once we managed to stabilize her we were able to operate safely.  She’ll be weak and tired for a few days, and her shoulder might never fully recover, but she’ll be just fine.”

Oh thank god.

_Oh thank god._

In that one brief moment, Spencer found himself thanking a higher being he didn’t believe in, all because you were going to make it.

You were going to be fine.

You were going to live.

_He wasn’t going to lose you._


	52. Family Gets Angry (When You Get Yourself Hurt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a pretty short chapter. That’s partially because this is kind of a mid-point. Not in terms of length, but in terms of…focus I guess. The team knows the dirtiest details of Rea’s career in MI6, she trusts them with that kind of information, both she knows she loves Spencer, he knows he loves her, and Rea honestly thinks all of her ghosts are behind her forever. Now we’re in the ‘approaching the smoochening’ stage, which leads to the ‘deeper romance’ stage, which will be followed by Rea’s super dangerous daddy issues, which could lead to ‘you kept this a secret for months when you should have told me’ or ‘faking a death and then coming back unharmed’ or ‘faking a death then reunited a few months later and somebody finds out about the bun in the oven’ or ‘somebody actually dies.’
> 
> Really don’t wanna do that last one but…there’s a lot of things I write that I don’t wanna write, but I do it anyway because my muse is like ‘DO IT FOR THE FIC.’ It’s like the writer’s version of ‘do it for the Vine.’

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Family Gets Angry (When You Get Yourself Hurt)

 

You were allowed to leave the hospital after a few days, your mother and Micha visited every day and both Spencer and Emily refused to leave Boston until you could leave.  The rest of the team wanted to stay too, but both Hotch and JJ had to get home to their families, and someone had to be at the office in case there was a case in the next few days.

They didn’t leave until you were conscious enough to have a little _chat_ though.

Morgan felt a bit guilty about being _angry_ when the team filtered into your room, having been chased out by the night nurse, and saw you were still deathly pale with eyes sunken in and a bruise on your jaw serving as the _only_ color in your face.  The side of your hospital gown was allowed to hang off of your shoulder, mostly for comfort as the stitches were still covered by gauze, and you were hooked up to both an IV saline drip and a morphine drip for the pain.

It had been the nick in your femoral artery that caused the most damage, causing a torrent of blood to pour from your leg, and the fact you’d still gotten up and forced yourself to run on it didn’t help.  You’d managed a tourniquet that slowed the bleeding, but it only did so much and if Spencer and Hotch hadn’t reached you when they did…

You _would_ be dead.

“What the hell were you thinking?”  Rossi was the one to hop onto the lecture circuit first, standing at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed as he stared you down like an angry dad.

“I didn’t have time to do things the _ideal way_.  I asked Penny to look up those people to try and put a plan together, but things escalated faster than I expected.  Someone had broken into my apartment, they left photographs of _all_ of you, if I stuck around Whitewood would have ordered one of you to be captured or killed,” you tried to explain your situation, your voice a bit hoarse from exhaustion but you refused to sleep your entire day away, not when you wouldn’t be seeing some members of the team for a few days.  Not when you thought you would be dead only hours ago.  “He wanted to chase me to mother and Micha, so I had to catch him off guard and bide time until the rest of you could catch up and reach them first.  That cottage used to be a safehouse shared by MI6 and Interpol, but it was dumped by both agencies a few years ago.  It’s the only former safe house that hasn’t been sold on the public market – “

“You thought it was safe enough to send Spence that email,” JJ cut in, holding the same disappointed stance as Rossi while standing by the side of your bed.

“Whitewood had already seen every recording, if he’d ever suspected that I’d figured him out he would have sent an army to kill me outright.”  You took a deep breath, shaking off the lazy daze of the morphine.  “I was leaving every hint I could, and I needed to send it to someone who could remember every detail and notice the irregularities.  I was hoping we’d be able to trip Whitewood up in interrogation, but the best way to do that is minimize the number of agents who know the details.  Someone who doesn’t know the details does the interview, while the agent who _does_ watches and waits until after the initial interview for a routine review with the correct information and we read how he reacts to the differences.”

“So you run off and face off against a guy – with an _army_ – that wants to kill you.”  Morgan’s snide and sarcastic tone was out of his own frustration that you’d gone off and done something so remarkably stupid and almost _died_ because of it.  “You could have just gotten your mom and Micha and gotten the hell out of town, or had them relocated – “

“Whitewood would have prepared for that, he was probably waiting for any signs that a family was being relocated or watching local neighborhoods to see if [Y/N] went there.”  Spencer hung his head as he cut in, hands tucked in his pocket as he stood by the head of your bed, facing the others, as he said something he _hated_ admitting.  “He would have had the strike team prepared to move and both Maribeth and Micha would have been caught up in the firefight.”

“You’re taking her side?  _You._ ”  JJ questioned, eyeing Spencer as she questioned just what he was doing.  He was in love with you, he’d been the one to first spot you, and he’d killed a man just hours ago.  He couldn’t seriously be _enabling_ this kind of behavior.  “She had a week to tell us. _”_

“I’m mad too, and yeah, she fucked up and should have told us sooner, but she did the best she could with what she had.”  He felt defeated.  He _hated_ seeing the logic behind what you’d done, especially since it had almost _killed_ you, and he hated the fact that you’d gone off and done something so _reckless_ like there was nobody waiting for you to come back _alive._   Like there was nobody waiting for you in that waiting room.

“Look, maybe we should wait to have this conversation until we don’t have to have it in a hospital an hour and a half flight away from home,” Emily spoke up as she heaved a heavy sigh.  She wished she could be angry, she really did, but you’d done the exact thing _she_ would have done, but she couldn’t guarantee she would have told the team at _all._

That’s not how agents like you and she were trained.

“The doctor wants to keep me for a few days, so it’ll be a bit,” you took the moment to speak up, before snipping at them, “You can talk about me like I’m not here in a few days.”

“We _will_ be talking about this,” Hotch promised, the calmer voice of reason despite the fact you could tell he was just as angry, “But we’re all glad you’re going to be okay.”

“Any chance I could be there when you question Whitewood?  I know I can’t take place but…”

“He’s dead,” Hotch answered carefully, shooting Spencer a look before looking back at you to explain further, “Gunshot to the head.”

“I won’t say he didn’t deserve it…but I was hoping to find out who he was working with.”

“The case has been turned over to Interpol, they’ll find something.”


	53. A Picture's Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smoochening is coming. Not in this case, but it is close. I promise.
> 
> I’m also having a bit of a fight with my cat at the moment. I’ve been able to get some sleep for the last few nights, and then tonight/this morning he barfed up a hairball RIGHT ON MY FUCKING BED. I know that sounds petty, but I rarely get sleep on a nightly basis. This was the first week I’d been able to do that in a WHILE. Most of the time I go three or four days before I’m finally able to get some real sleep. Then this little asshole barfs INCHES FROM MY FACE and now I have to sanitize my sheets and blankets at four in the fucking morning because I’ve only got the one set of sheets. To top things off, some asshole thought it would be a brilliant idea to build my bed into the house FOUR FEET OFF THE GROUND and tucked into a FUCKING CORNER so I have to be ON THE BED while I put the fitted sheet around THREE OF THE FOUR CORNERS and because of the sides of the bed going up around the sides of the mattress I can’t just scootch the damn thing either. I have to PICK IT UP while I’m ON IT.
> 
> On top of everything else he insists on whining – loudly – ALL NIGHT LONG because he ate a single hole in the food in his food bowl so he can see the bottom of the bowl. There’s food ALL AROUND that little hole, if you shake the bowl it’s still OVER half-filled.
> 
> Basically, I’m mad at Icee, and I’m gonna be mad at him until I can fall asleep again.
> 
> Finally, this was going to be a different case, and I was legit half-way through the first chapter, but I was just forcing it to fit and forcing myself to write it. So, I reviewed the plan and noticed there was a case that would fit better. So, things got changed, hence why it took a bit to get things started up again.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### A Picture's Worth

 

You’d spent every extra moment sketching away in a small sketchbook.  You wouldn’t let anyone see what you were up to either.

For years, you’d been tossing around the idea of getting that picture of a black bird tattooed…somewhere onto your body.  You could never actually stick with that plan, though, as you just couldn’t seem to commit to the idea.  As much as it symbolized where you started…it still didn’t feel right.  It didn’t feel like _you._

You weren’t sketching away to try and design a tattoo, you were just…trying to create an image – even an abstract one – to define it.  No…not define where you were, or even who you were without your father’s shadow or your assignment as a specialist, but to symbolize that you weren’t the spy, you weren’t the criminal’s daughter desperately trying to do what was right, you weren’t even hanging your identity on your job as a profiler for the FBI.  You were just… _you._

You dealt with things by creating art, whether you were celebrating, mourning, or just trying to figure this out.  This time it was more of a commemoration, a personal celebration of how far you’d come.  It seemed silly, even to you, but…it was something you wanted to do.  Leave that old and frayed picture of a black bird behind and find something _new._

It’s not that you didn’t have any ideas…none of them felt _right._

 

********

 

You seemed… _lighter._

Like a massive weight had been lifted off of your shoulders…just because somebody _knew._

“I know this will change… _a lot_ …” you spoke carefully as you met with Spencer, privately, at a café close to home, “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful that someone else knows…”

You’d been at home, resting, for the last few days until one of the bureau doctors cleared you for duty.  Most of those days were spent talking with the team when they weren’t hovering over you, giving straight answers, Morgan just about wanted the whole narrative and Penny had gone along with him to offer both food and the occasional answer herself.  She and JJ had been…partially complicit in this secret, they’d owned up to that even with how…frustrated they were with how you just ran off.  They’d known for _years_ , it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that case would come back to haunt you, but they’d kept your secret from everyone else.

Even with how angry they were free to be, now that you were safe and alive, they had to admit they weren’t _faultless_ in this.

That had been fun to explain to everyone else…

Emily didn’t push and pry.  Hotch and Rossi didn’t push for answers much either, but between Rossi’s _‘disappointed dad’_ look and Hotch bringing Jack over to visit…you knew they were guilt-tripping you into _never almost getting yourself killed again._   Emily, though…she knew.  She’d been a CIA agent.  She hadn’t been a _specialist_ , but the CIA didn’t exactly _have_ specialists like MI6, it was a different organization with different tactics and different rules.  She was, though, as close as the CIA _got_ to a real specialist.  That was why she’d been chosen for the cross-agency investigation into your father.

Sometimes…sometimes you have to throw yourself onto that grenade, even when you’ve got backup, because that’s how you deal with the enemy.

Spencer, though, would be a far more complicated conversation…

For starters…he was the only one who knew _all_ the details of your life on the run.

Had you known Whitewood wouldn’t survive…you never would have let _anyone_ see those videos.

“It was a lot to go through…and in such a short time…”  Spencer looked down at his cup of coffee on the table, one hand still holding it as he leaned his other arm onto the table and just _barely_ kept from nervously tapping against the surface.  It wasn’t that he was nervous talking to you, it was just…as angry as he wanted to be that you hadn’t just _told them_ …he knew _why_. 

He knew why you _couldn’t_ , why you’d wanted to keep it to yourself for as long as possible, why you’d wanted to keep the dirty details to yourself.  It was the fact that you’d trusted _him_ and _only him_ with everything, now that Whitewood was no longer a threat the videos, and the servers they had been on, had been destroyed.  Interpol didn’t feel there was a need for them, and you’d fully admitted there was nothing in them that could actually help uncover the rest of the syndicate _or_ what they were planning.  Even Garcia couldn’t find a trace of the email you’d sent Spencer.

She’d picked up an alert that someone was messing around with your emails, but it was all over before she could even look further into it, and every lead led her to Interpol…she opted for not pushing _that_ button on top of all the others the team had already pushed.

“I did…things that…if you can’t trust me, I completely understand, _I_ wouldn’t trust me if I were in your position…”

“Maybe but…after everything it’s a miracle you trust _anyone_.”  He took a deep breath, having been thinking about how to voice his feelings on the subject.  “I don’t…I don’t agree with what you did, you _should_ have told us sooner, but you weren’t trying to trick us or lie to us so I can’t say I’m _mad_ …I wish things had been different…but I’m glad you can trust me – _us,_ the team.”

“Me too…”

 

********

 

The last few days had been nothing but paperwork, a calm few days leading up to the weekend.  Emily had talked you into joining her for the _Sin to Win_ weekend in Atlantic City, though considering your plans for a girls’ trip to Vegas last year got cancelled for _many_ reasons.  The two of you were taking half-days, showing up later in the afternoon to finish up a few things at the office before taking off for New Jersey, and there was _no_ ignoring the fact the two of you had caught _everyone’s_ attention.

All those plans were tossed into the bin when an urgent case in Florida came in.

A man had called in his own suicide, moments before pulling the trigger, sitting in a chair in a warehouse.  He was _covered_ in tattoos with the faces and death years of girls who had gone missing and the year their remains were found.  _Most_ importantly was the wall depicting all the girls, and the _one_ girl that hadn’t been found yet.

You were about as prepared for the Florida heat and humidity as you could be, obviously changing out of your dress before heading out, and as the team drove up to the warehouse in two black suburbans you felt like the heat had just beaten the breath out of you as soon as you felt it.  You’d already shed your blazer, leaving you in your loose gray V-neck t-shirt decorated with a faded image of mountains and a sunset lazily tucked into the waist of your fitted white pants, and buckled black heels.  You had _made sure_ to pack and wear lighter clothes, and you were still about to _die._

You were already tying your hair up into a messy bun to keep it from becoming _completely_ unmanageable, you could _feel_ it starting to _poof_ even in the _car._

Everyone was already becoming miserable in the heat, you weren’t even going to ask how Hotch hadn’t died from heat stroke in his suit or how Rossi seemed perfectly comfortable in his blue sports coat.  Emily had already shed her suit jacket, it had taken JJ a total of five minutes before she had to roll up her sleeves, Spencer had lasted a _bit_ longer before rolling up his own sleeves, but you and Morgan were uncomfortable the _second_ the door to the jet opened.

“Ugh, this heat is _brutal_ ,” Morgan groaned as everyone got out of the cars, shutting the doors before heading to the warehouse.

“You know, it isn’t so much the heat as it is the humidity,” Spencer pointed out, potentially about to go on about _why_ if nobody responded.

“Yeah, my hair and I are already aware of that, thanks” you retorted, already starting to fight your hair as it _refused_ to be tamed by the hair tie you were wrapping it into, and you kept wrestling until you reached the detective leading the investigation.  You weren’t even going to _start_ on the fact that dry heat was just as miserable, not when you were talking to a man who grew up in a _literal_ desert.

“Hi, John Barton, Tallahassee PD,” the detective introduced himself, primarily to Hotch as was normal, “I’m the primary on the missing girl, Rebecca Daniels.  I got my files in the car if you need them.”

“I’m, Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Rossi, Agent Prentiss, Dr. Reid, Agent [L/N], Agent Morgan, Agent Jareau,” Hotch quickly ran through the list of names, each of you either waving or nodding casually as you refrained from a long greeting, ready to get right to work.  Besides Hotch, JJ was the only one to shake the detective’s hand.

“Yeah, hey, thanks a lot for coming own so quickly, appreciate that.”  The detective was shaken, he’d clearly not dealt with something so bizarre before, and he was in such a rush he was practically stumbling over his words, speaking faster than he could think as he led the rest of you to the scene inside.  “I’ve also confirmed that all the women are victims from around the southeast – Florida, Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama.”

“And Rebecca’s the only woman on the wall who’s not represented on his body,” Hotch confirmed as you all made your way down the faint path shaded over by trees and high grass.

“Yeah, she’s the only one.  Hope you have a strong stomach.”

Made sense, the locals had specifically been requested to leave the body where it was.  The unsub staged his suicide to tell a story, and if you were going to find out anything you had to see the scene _exactly_ as he set it – body left out in the Florida heat and humidity and all.

Most of the walls were bare, sheet metal, even the few metal shelves were bare.  The high-back cushioned chair the unsub was in faced the far wall opposite the door, a section of the wall to his right was the one holding the history of the missing women decorating the unsub’s body.  There were a few boxes of journals, old fashioned composition books the locals had only dusted for prints.

“Have you identified him?” Rossi asked, jumping on the first of _many_ things that would help figure things out.

“We’re working on it,” the detective seemed to be getting more comfortable, or at least _acted_ more confident to keep the team from getting the impression the locals had dropped the ball.  It’s not like the unsub had his wallet on him, and you’d all rushed onto the plane for a short flight as soon as possible, not giving the locals a lot of time to get a head start.  “Uh, we got a rush on the DNA and prints.  He’s cleared locally, but it’s gonna take some time to get the national records.”

“What about property records?”  Emily tugged on a pair of blue latex gloves as most of you gathered around the unsub, JJ stayed back as she tied up her hair and prepared to continue working with the locals while keeping the news from broadcasting too much or too little.  You crossed your arms as you looked at the intricacies of the tattoos, the branching of the tree connecting each image seeming…familiar.

It didn’t seem like it was just you, either, as Spencer furrowed his brow in thought as he leaned to the side to examine the tattoos, before leaning forward with his hands still tucked in his pockets.

“Talked to the owner, she said she rented it a couple weeks ago to a quiet, normal-looking guy named Bob.  He said he wanted to store some equipment, paid in cash.”

“They’re always _normal_ ,” Rossi mused, having heard the claim that the unsub seemed _normal_ too many times over his career.

“No lease?” Emily clarified as the team started to split up and take a look at the other evidence in the warehouse, Hotch making his way to the wall of photographs and news articles as you pulled on your own pair of latex gloves before stepping around to the side of the unsub.

_Maybe…_

“Uh, month to month, no,” the detective explained the local culture, “Out here in the boonies, you don’t get a lot of record-keeping types.”

“Especially when it comes to cash transactions, I’ll bet.”  Morgan stepped around to the other side of the unsub, ready to get a look at the rest of the room and try to see if he could find anything else.

“He’s not kid, yet the missings go back only ten years?” Rossi narrowed his eyes just slightly, the fact that it looked like the unsub was a _late bloomer_ catching his attention.  That was particularly rare, though it would be hard to confirm or deny that fact without knowing who the unsub _was._   For all any of you knew, the unsub only moved to the area about ten years ago.

“As far as I could tell.”

“Late bloomer.”

“You see this a lot? Uh…” Detective Barton had to ask, this was something he’d never seen before.  “These guys killing themselves?”

“Most serial killers who commit suicide do it in prison _after_ they’re caught.”  Spencer pulled his hands out of his pocket and loosely entwined his hands together, standing back and watching as you continued examining the patterns, double and triple checking your working theory regarding the tattoos.  If you were right…

“JJ, gather as much information about the prior victims as you can.  Morgan and Prentiss, take the journals,” Hotch gave the team places to start.  Normally, it would be faster and easier to have Reid go through the journals, the way you were examining those tattoos meant you might already be onto something and would need a sounding board to bounce off ideas.  “Dave, you and Reid help [Y/N] with the tattoos, see if he left any clues about where miss Daniels might be.”

It seemed to take Rossi a moment to recall that you weren’t just an artist, but you had a _literal_ college degree in art, you’d studied not only how to make the art but the sociological effects and history as well.  You couldn’t _blame_ him, it’s not like it came up.  Besides acting as a sketch artist when it was more convenient than calling on a local one, your artistic training didn’t come into play in the field.

You’d taken to ignoring the officers who found the unsub, the younger one gave a rather colorful, but brief, description of what happened, the unsub had called only seconds – maybe a minute – before pulling the trigger.  The unsub was a _consummate overachiever_ , that much was certain by the scene he’d set complete with the blood splatter on the ceiling lamp above him, though the younger officer didn’t seem to _quite_ understand what that means.

Rossi found an old rose tattooed on the unsub’s forearm, something that immediately stuck out compared to the rest of the artwork covering the dead man.

“Look at that – at the turn of the 16th century rose tattoos were put on men who were sentenced to death.”  Spencer was mostly saying that for Rossi’s benefit, fully aware that you already knew.

“It was mostly for identification purposes, and very specifically used in England as a marker they couldn’t get rid of in case the convict escaped.  There’s no real rhyme or reason for most identification tattoos, but some experts think this one has to do with the Tudor rose being the British national flower,” you added, lessons from one of _many_ art history classes still fresh in your mind simply because they offered an enjoyable _reprieve_ from weeks undercover or days being _shot at._   A bit amusing, considering you also had to write pages and pages on the subject, yet that was never the reason you recalled the information.  “Considering the history of the Tudor’s, it’s not surprising they’d managed to take something commonly associated with Aphrodite and at least _attempt_ to turn it into a symbol of death.”

The infamous Henry VIII was only the _second_ Tudor on the throne, after all.

Spencer seemed to be the only one who actually put the pieces of that little joke together, however, as the officers just looked like baffled deer in headlights and Rossi shot the genius a look when he’d let out a little chuckle.  You just continued to work, carefully leaning the unsub forward to get a look at his back.

“ _The Illustrated Man…”_ you confirmed your suspicions, voicing the name of the inspiration behind the tattoos after spotting the blank spot on the unsub’s back.

“What’s that?” Rossi questioned, worried he was about to regret his decision to ask.

“It’s amazing,” Spencer jumped in, his excitement about the book only growing when you shot him an endearing smile before standing upright.  “It’s a collection of short stories by Ray Bradbury, based on the metafictive device of a man who’s covered in tattoos drawn by a woman from the future.”

“Uh-huh…” Rossi was already regretting asking the question, and starting to zone the genius out.

“At nighttime, the tattoos come to life, it’s pretty awesome.”

“It’s also a sort of _rite of passage_ in the art community, and especially for tattoo artists, I didn’t even go to an art school and I still had to read it and write a 20-page paper on it, then watch the movie in a completely different class,” you concluded with the more applicable fact about the book, still smiling with a little chuckle in your voice as you started before going right back to business, “Everyone has to read it, there is a difference between the book and the movie.  In the book, he’s completely covered, but the _movie_ includes a blank space on his back – like the unsub.”

“Does it represent something special?” Rossi asked, turning to you as you were the resident expert.  It was a bit of an odd feeling for you, considering you were normally the resident expert on things you’d done or learned during your time at MI6, not something you learned in _school._   It was _odd_ , but not _bad._

“You can see the future in it.”


	54. What's Worth Confessing For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This close to the smoochening and I'm not 100% convinced we'll get there before we get to 150,000 words...
> 
> So...that's a thing...

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### What's Worth Confessing For?

 

“Oi, oi,” you stepped away from the deceased unsub when you saw Emily and Morgan walking away from the pile of journals that _Spencer_ was now reading, “What the hell?”

“He’ll get through them a _lot_ faster,” Emily attempted to reason with you first, though Morgan jumped to the heart of the matter.

“We get it, we owe him one – “

“I don’t care.  It’s _already_ looking like a lot of this case is going to revolve around parts of the art community, and with him stuck on journal duty _I’m the only one left_.”  You tugged one of your blue latex gloves off with a resounding _snap_ , and the two older agents shifted their eyes to look at each other before looking to Spencer, who’d stopped reading to watch the scene, and silently ask for help.

He just shook his head before going back to reading.

They were _on their own._

“We owe you one – “ Morgan started to bargain, but you immediately cut him off.

“ _Each._   Don’t think you can _share_ this favor.  You _both_ owe a favor to Spencer, and another one to me.”

They weren’t going to argue with that.

They were just going to take the deal and run.

 

********

 

A few of the pieces were starting to fit together.  The unsub wouldn’t kidnap a new girl until the last one he’d taken was found.  All of his victims were from different jurisdictions, meaning he knew the system.  He _chronically_ journaled, so he was likely in some sort of institution or program where journaling was part of his treatment.  He _wanted_ to make a scene, and the graphic descriptions in his journals made it safe to say he was a sadist.  He was methodical and covered himself in the image of his victims, symbolic of possession – like he owned them and would _always_ own them.  He was organized, his compulsive nature kept him on an annual cycle, and the computer print-outs of the news article were all printed out on the same date two weeks earlier.

He wasn’t even on anyone’s radar until he made that call.  So, _something_ changed to make him make that call and kill himself.

“He got away with it for ten years, he could have kept going,” Hotch summarized the most critical part of the puzzle, “But he decides to end it all, and hand everything to us.”

“That’s it, _everything_.”  Spencer shot up from his seat on a packed box and joined the rest of you gathered around the unsub, having paused in reading the journals to participate with the rest of the team tossing theories around.  “ _Everything_.  His body, the tattoos, the clippings, the printout, the journals, he moved it all into one room.  He wanted us to see all of it.  See all of him – his work – the women, he put them in chronological order.  He’s screaming _‘look at me.’_ ”

“We all got that,” Rossi gently nudged Spencer to get to the point the rest of you were missing.

“No, but think about it.  If you take a step back…it sort of makes sense.”  He slowed down a bit, though just a bit, “It’s just a confession.  A giant, flashy confession.”

If an unsub could keep killing, they’d only confess if there was someone to _protect_.

“He’s turning all the attention towards him, because he has a _partner_ ,” you caught up, looking up at Spencer briefly as he quickly nodded, even if you fell behind a bit you’d always managed to catch up.

“He – he made a mistake in his third book, I almost missed it, but then I caught it.”  Spencer held up the journal in question as he skipped for the specific line to get the wording exactly right as he read aloud, “ _I thought it would take longer, but today was the lucky day.  She almost walked right by, almost missed her completely, but at the last moment we found our latest guest.”_

“ _We,”_ JJ took a breath before speaking that one word that changed the entire approach, mentally running through everyone she could call and the favors she could wager if the local media was harder to convince than normal.

“I’m willing to bet,” you turned your attention back to the tattooed unsub, you hands on your hips, “The partner is his tattoo artist, he wouldn’t trust something this critical to just _anyone_.”

“If he has a partner, he’s still out there,” Hotch pointed out, shifting his stance to lead the rest of you out of the warehouse, “And he’s got Rebecca Daniels.”

 

********

 

You were heading out with Rossi to talk to local tattoo artists, but as you reached the door to the warehouse you had to take a pause and made your way back over to Spencer as he continued reading through journal after journal.  You caught his attention with a soft _hey_ , his full attention pulled from the journals and to you as you stood at his side, a hand on his shoulder.

“Be careful, alright?  Reading through the journals off a sadistic psychopath…you’re getting deeper into his head than the rest of us…just…call if you need anything?”

“I’ll be fine,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in a one-armed hug, being reminded that he was still seated while you were standing when you returned the sentiment by brushing some of his hair back.  The two of you parted a bit slowly, slow enough to catch his attention and cause you to shove the memory down and figure it was just the heat making the both of you tired.

“You’ll still call, right?”

“I promise.”

There was nothing more to it than that.

Besides, there were bigger issues.

You were working against the clock.  JJ had managed to get a few more hours out of the media, but the local officers had already told the reporters _everything._   Detective Barton seemed to be reaching the end of his rope, professionally, as he was taking the case personally and questioning the decision to keep the media from broadcasting the story just yet.  He kept pushing and asking if any of you had seen something like this case before, seemingly baffled that any of you could remain professional given the scene and the missing girl.

Rossi had opted to let you do most of the talking to the artists on the list Garcia had gotten Rossi.  These were just the _licensed_ tattoo artists, it was more likely the unsub’s artist was underground, but someone might recognize the art.

“He’s got a body suit?  He’s completely covered?” the latest artist you were talking to asked, looking at the printed photographs you were showing him.

“Right, he’s emulating _The Illustrated Man_ , the _movie_ specifically, as he has a blank space on his back,” you added, watching as the artist shifted through the photos to get a better look and see if he recognized anything.

“You know it?”

“Went to uni for art, had a professor that owned a tattoo shop.”  Your explanation made sense to the tattoo artist, _The Illustrated Man_ was well known in his field, though Rossi wasn’t _entirely_ sure why your professor’s tattoo shop played a part.  “We were hoping you’d recognize the work.”

“I _wish_ , I’d hire this dude in a heartbeat.  This looks free hand,” he gestured to one of the images of a victim, “Trust me, free-hand portraiture is pretty gnarly to do on skin, man.”

You huffed as you prepared to gather up the photographs and move to the next shop on the list in a moment, as this venture was proving to be just as helpful as the _other_ shops in the area.

“Did he shoot himself?  Because none of these pictures have a head.”

You couldn’t tell if Rossi was _unbelievably_ patient or half a second away from losing his temper, as the artist had kept asking about whether the unsub was dead, how he died, pushing and nudging like a teenage boy looking to see a dead body he could poke with a stick.  “Can you tell if the same artist did these?”

“It looks like it, but they weren’t all done at the same time,” the artist looked back down at the photos before looking up at you and Rossi, “Some of the inks are newer.  You know, if I saw the body I’d probably be able to tell you more.”

“Right, we’ll keep that in mind,” you deadpanned as you pushed photos of other portraits forward, “And these?”

“These are a lot of portraits, what do they mean?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”  Rossi made it sound like it was up to the artist to give the two of you the answers, though that wasn’t _exactly_ true.

“Wait, that doesn’t fit,” the artist snatched the photograph of the rose and took a closer look at it, “There’s something under the rose there.  Looks like…a cross?  A big one.”

“Right…under the stem, and the top is hidden under the flower…” you mused as you took a closer look, noticing the dark outline of the cross hidden underneath the rose.

“That wasn’t done professionally.  More like it was done in jail.”

“If he did time…that would explain why a 50-year-old unsub didn’t start killing until he was 40,” Rossi turned away from the artist and the photos to talk with you, as you turned back to him as well.

“This dude’s a killer?”  The artist went ignored.

“And why rapists become killers after they’ve been in prison,” Rossi was working on a lead, a hunch, but it seemed like a good one.

“They learn to get rid of the evidence.”  You pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialed Garcia’s number, “I’ll ask Penny to track this through the Biometric Recognition program.”

As you stepped out to make the call, you heard the artist ask one more time.

“So, there’s, like, no chance of me seeing the dead dude, right?”

_“None.”_

 

********

 

You were still hopping from tattoo shop to tattoo shop trying to get a name, when you received a surprise call from Spencer.

“Hey, what’s up?”

 _“JJ and I are heading to the M.E.’s office to look at the body again, you saw the movie right?”_   He was speaking quickly, like he did when he had a stroke of brilliance in the middle of a case, _“I’ve never seen it.”_

“Yeah, studied it in uni.  I’ll see you at the M.E.’s office, I’m only a few blocks away,” you confirmed, one last _thanks_ from the other end the only thing postponing the end of the call.  You filled in Rossi before taking your leave, walking the few blocks to the M.E.’s office after turning down Rossi’s offer to drop you off on his way back to the warehouse.  The few strands of hair that were loose from your messy bun were getting frizzy, and the Florida humidity was getting on your _last_ nerve as you stopped at a café for a bottle of water.

In the meantime, Penny had gone through the system and had a list of four penitentiaries that could have held the unsub.  The girls only started going missing ten years ago, so she looked at everyone with that cross tattoo from before then, narrowed down the list to 53 men with crosses on their forearms before further narrowing that list down to men who were released prior to when the first victim went missing.

There were ten names to run through, but that was far more manageable than having no clues at all.  Four of them were convicted rapists but _none_ of those four had ties to Tallahassee.  Though, there was a man named _Robert Matthew Burke_ , explaining his use of the name _Bob_ to rent the warehouse, who was released the October before the first girl went missing.

He was also on the list of Barton’s suspects, but the detective was never able to catch up with Burke to actually _meet_ him.  They’d talked on the phone, and Burke scheduled an appointment for a test to compare his DNA to the semen taken from the girls’ remains.  Morgan and Barton were taking a SWAT team to Burke’s apartment, but there was something else on your mind.

The relationship between Robert and his partner was…out of the ordinary.  He killed himself to protect the partner, so it was unlikely that the partner was another alpha or someone else that could pose a threat to his authority, but in the typical crime-based dominant/submissive relationship the dominant personality doesn’t sacrifice themselves for the submissive.  Not _typically_ , at any rate, which meant Robert and his partner had to have a unique relationship…

_What if…_

You’d deal with that later, discuss it when you met up with Spencer in person and could bounce ideas off of each other, for now he had a lead that could give a piece of the profile.

“The base design is from the book, but when you said there’s a blank spot in the movie I figured he was going for the same design in the movie,” Spencer started to explain as you and JJ pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves with him, “But that would mean he only brushed the surface of something he’s _obsessed_ with – “

“That doesn’t make any sense, he’d study the book just as intensely as whoever did his tattoos,” you furrowed your own brow as you ignored the looks JJ was shooting both you and Spencer, the two of you once again leaving at least one member of the team to sit back and watch as you started bouncing theories and hunches back and forth like a ping-pong ball.

“Exactly, he can’t lose _any_ control, even if he wanted to he couldn’t just let his partner do whatever they wanted, but in his journals he said there was only _one_ blank space, and Rebecca Daniels would complete it.”  You almost felt bad for the M.E. as she stood back and watched the three of you look over Burke’s body, the tattoos on his back to be specific, and left the poor women _completely_ in the dark.

“So, if he’s trying to copy the _book_ , why is there a blank spot on his _back?”_ JJ voiced the million-dollar question as you quietly asked the M.E. for a blacklight.

“It’s not, there’s raised ink under the skin,” Spencer explained as he took a closer look at the spot on Burke’s back that _looked_ to be blank, poking at the skin as JJ took a closer look herself, “Right there, feel that.”

They pulled away as you flipped the blacklight on, holding it over the killer’s back to reveal the invisible ink underneath, Spencer asking the M.E. to turn the lights down as the three of you traced over the winding lines glowing ultraviolet and tying all the victims’ portraits to the blank spot that portrayed…

“It’s an embryo, in a womb,” JJ described the tattoo, almost simplistic compared to the ornate work on the trees and faces.

“The future…in the movie the blank spot was used to portray the future, obviously whoever designed this read the original book, but they’re still using this spot to portray the future.  _Their_ future,” you threw the idea out there, meeting eyes with Spencer as it clicked for the two of you, “With _Burke._ ”

 _That_ was why a dominant would sacrifice himself for the submissive.  It wasn’t the crime that connected them.

“The partner’s a woman, and they’re having a baby,” Spencer agreed.

Burke and his partner were in _love._


	55. An Image Comes To Mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 55 whoo!!
> 
> Holy shit…55 chapters…what the fuck?
> 
> Also, not gonna lie, but I kinda feel like if this specific Rea, Spencer, and JJ were sent off to solve a case, just the three of them with Garcia back at the office waiting to pull off some technical wizardry, it would be wrapped up in – like – an afternoon. IDK why. I just do.
> 
> Also, as you can probably tell by the end of the chapter, we’re getting closer to the smoochening
> 
> :3

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### An Image Comes To Mind...

 

The three of you stood around JJ’s phone, on speaker, as you spoke with Hotch, Morgan, and Barton over a conference call.

 _“Do we know if she had the baby yet?”_ Hotch jumped on the news, the baby changing _everything_ about the unknown partner, and everything about trying to get Rebecca Daniels back safely.

“The tattoos have dates, the embryo doesn’t,” JJ voiced the opinion she shared with you and Spencer, that there was no way that baby was born yet.

“Dating is prominent in the tattoos and the journals, and they’re calendrical in their abductions, it’s hard to believe their baby’s birth date wouldn’t be exceedingly important to them,” Spencer clarified, in detail, that it was highly, _highly_ unlikely that the baby was born.

_“Then she’s probably still pregnant.”_

_“Well, he didn’t live here with a pregnant woman.”_   Morgan was taking another brief look at the stark apartment that Burke rented, _“This is a male’s only SRO.”_

 _“No, she has to have a house, anyway,”_ Hotch concurred, reminding the rest of you that a house was necessary for what Burke and his partner had been doing for the last ten years.

 _“How do you know that?”_   Sometimes, the team got so wrapped up in the investigation you’d forget that the locals were non-profilers struggling to keep up with the rest of you.

 _“They kept these woman for a year, it wasn’t in a one-room apartment,”_ Morgan caught the detective up to speed before the rest of you got right back to work.

_“Everyone get back here, we need to update the profile and narrow the search.”_

 

********

 

Nobody had even stepped foot in the hotel reserving rooms for you, and in the rush the warehouse had become the team’s rally point.  You, Spencer, and JJ weren’t able to meet with the others, though as you had to stop at the local precinct so JJ could work more closely with the local news channels – especially with _recent_ changes and the locals’ habit of telling the news _everything._  

There was no stopping them from broadcasting it on the evening news, but she wasn’t about to let them go blurting out everything and anything without a care.  She’d have to sweeten the pot, make some deals, call some friends, but it was hardly anything she hadn’t done before and – as stressful as it could be – she knew she could do it.  It gave _you_ a chance to get to work on that SWAT team Hotch wanted on standby.  If anyone could sweet-talk their way through protocol and get a SWAT team on standby only _minutes_ after one returned from dispatch, it was you with your big blue eyes and small stature.  In the meantime, Spencer was hunched over a map, trying to narrow down the neighborhoods the unsub’s partner could live in based on where the bodies were found, the warehouse, and where the unsub lived.  Problem was, when it came to a geographic profile, there was _absolutely_ such a thing as _too much_ data, and Spencer was filtering through a decade’s worth of it.

“The partner being pregnant could help us, we should have Garcia try and find her through doctor visits or medical records,” Morgan proposed as everyone stood in a circle, the sun had long since set and allowed the air to cool even with the humidity.

“He basically lived off the grid, which means she did too.”  Rossi wasn’t confident in that idea, especially considering the partner would still be the submissive even with the complicated nature of her relationship to Burke.  That would be a non-negotiable for Burke.

“Judging on the photographs of what they did to the _victims_ , it’s safe to say they lived in isolation,” Emily left the wall of photographs and printouts to join the others.

“We’ve seen his hatred for women, and yet he teams up with her…” Hotch thought aloud, giving everyone else the chance to chime in with an explanation.  “What kind of woman could change him?”

“You think they met in prison?” Morgan suggested, running on the idea this whole system only started because Burke met his partner.

“Garcia already went through all of that,” Emily shook her head, the technical analyst hadn’t found a single employee of the prison that could have become Burke’s partner, along with visitors, “He had no female visitors.”

“What about prison staff, doctors, religious volunteers?” Rossi suggested as Emily continued to shake her head.

“We went through a long list of all the vendors who were there during his incarceration, none of them resurfaced in Tallahassee.”

“What kind of woman would go to a prison to fall in love with a _rapist_?” Barton scoffed at the whole idea.  He didn’t think the theory was wrong, it just…disgusted him.

“Someone vulnerable, emotionally fragile, drawn to violent men.”  Emily listed off the basics of the partner’s profile, something the team saw all too often. 

“Someone in her life made her that way.  Classic abuse cycle, what if that’s who she was there to visit?” Hotch proposed, not even finished with his own suggestion before Emily called Garcia again.

“It’s worth a try.”

 _“My sweet,”_ Garcia answered half-way through the first ring.

“Hey, you know the visitor logs from the prison we looked at?” Emily started, unsurprised when Garcia answered in the affirmative.  The profiler kept Garcia _off_ speaker phone, Barton was barely keeping from snapping at the idea the rest of you were able to keep your cool during this case.  If he found out part of that was _because_ of Garcia, of the lighter tone and bright colors she brought to the rest of you even among the darkness, Barton might just _snap._

_“Uh-huh, still have them at the ready.”_

“Okay, great.  I need you to check dates for me.  Were there any women who visited another inmate while Burke was there, but then suddenly stopped visiting when Burke was released?”

_“Huh…okay, let me hit you back.”_

 

********

 

_Juliet Monroe._

She went to visit her father in prison once or twice annually from 1992 to 1995, after he’d been arrested and convicted of _rape_ with _her_ being his primary victim, and then she started visiting him once every _month_ from 1995 to 1997, then started visiting once every _week_ from 1998 to 1999 until Burke was released.  She was repeating the cycle she grew up with.  Her house was located in northern Florida, Hotch texted you the address and you snatched one of the FBI vests from the back seat of the suburban before making your way to the SWAT van to lay out the plan.

A stealthy approach, any loud bangs and an innocent victim might get hurt, and then there was the complication that Juliet Monroe was pregnant.

The instant you all entered the house, you heard Rebecca Daniels crying from one of the bedrooms in the back, a barren room with just a mattress and a chain on the floor leading to the shackle around her neck.  You took the baby in her arms, a little boy that had grown quiet after his mother – Juliet Monroe – died from giving birth hours ago.  _Hemorrhaging._

Rebecca was in a bit of a daze after Detective Barton led her out to the second ambulance, eyes swollen from crying as she stared off into the distance.  The baby was safe, being cared for by the paramedics, but there was no telling what would happen to him now…based on his family history he was destined for the foster system…maybe…maybe there was someone you could call.  You’d become known by dignitaries and their aids, many of them married or considering becoming parents, maybe you could find a home for him.

It just…

He was another child doomed to the cruelties of the world because of what his _parents_ did.

You weren’t oblivious to the look both Emily and Spencer gave you when you opted out of a poker game over the stale peanuts and pretzels kept on the jet, but you were focused on the wording of the mass email you were sending out to the contacts you still had – the ones that could still be _interested_ anyway.

Gods…

Just a few years ago, only months before starting at the BAU, your efforts to give an orphaned child a good home were because of a _mission._   They were all because it was the only way to stop Colovan and, eventually, Whitewood.  Now…you’d spent a total of five minutes holding the boy before handing off to a paramedic and you were potentially ruining what little pull you still had outside of the FBI just to get him a home.  For a brief moment, after logging out of your email and shutting the laptop before pulling your sketchpad out of your bag, you thought it had been a gradual change.  Something that cemented recently, but your own memory _actively_ combated that theory, running through all the moments you’d gone out of your way just as you were now, all leading back to the _first_ time.

The Jacobs case…your _first_ case…when your desire to be something _better_ was still forming…not because of a new job, not because your last mission had been hell, not because Emily had given you a heads-up on what to expect dealing with Hotch and the rest of the team.

You smiled and watched as Spencer _lost_ all the snacks to Prentiss only seconds before Morgan asked just what a _Sin to Win_ weekend is, before turning to see JJ smiling as she talked on the phone with Will, Hotch took a break from paperwork to say goodnight to Jack over the phone, and Rossi glared at the blank notepad he was using to make notes for his latest book while he was in the field.  Just a few years ago, you would have tucked yourself away, kept your distance, and never even _considered_ becoming as close as you were now – fully aware of the fact that Garcia was back in D.C. planning a shopping spree for the two of you – specifically to shop for Henry’s birthday.

You never would have become so close to this family on your own.  You never would have believed you were capable of that…you never would have believed you were _worth_ that.

Your pencil met the blank page with a confidence you hadn't had while you struggled to put an image to your newfound life, your newfound identity, that you hadn't found in your days of huffing and scribbling.

It was all because of an unexpected meeting and a man with sincere hazel eyes that immediately thought the best of you, _despite_ the fact he had – personally – seen the worst humanity had to offer.


	56. Off To The Frontier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rea’s usual coffee order is my usual coffee order so…*shrug*

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Off To The Frontier

 

A nice day off, the afternoon spent shopping with Penny before an evening out with _all_ the girls, was exactly what you needed.  The four of you were stuck cancelling your plans to hang out for cases, emergencies, you being stuck in the hospital, or any of the other crazy things that came up in your lives.

You’d posted in the group text, specifically for the ladies of the BAU, that you and Penny were running a bit late, so Emily and JJ decided to get the two of you coffee and meet the two of you on the way.

Holding her coffee and Penelope’s, Emily couldn’t help but feel sorry for nagging you – with the other girls – about your love life.  Without you around, you’d become JJ’s favorite target for nudging and prodding now that her date in the office-wide pool was coming up and there was still no hint that you or Spencer were any closer to getting together, JJ turned her attentions towards Emily.  To be fair, Emily partially blamed herself, as she was the one that had complained about never being able to find a decent date.

“JJ, that’s not the _point,”_ Emily maintained her position as she and JJ left the coffee shop.

“Well, are you gonna call him?” JJ probed after letting out a disbelieving scoff at Emily’s continued protest.

“Maybe.”

 _“Emily,”_ JJ groaned at the sky in frustration, though she couldn’t help but be at least a little amused at her friend.

“Mick Rawson is an arrogant, oversexed, egotistical – “

“Hot British dude with a sexy accent, badge, and gun,” JJ cut Emily off as they continued walking down the block to meet up with you and Penny, “Just your type.”

 _“Ugh._ ”

“Alright, you know what, I don’t even get you sometimes.”

“It wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know our _work_ schedules.”

Alright, Emily had a point, a relationship between profilers on different BAU teams would involve a lot of work, but, “Okay, you know what?  Will and I make it work – _oh no…”_

The subject matter _immediately_ changed when JJ and Emily saw the multitude of colorful bags hanging off of both Penny’s arms and yours after just an _afternoon_ of shopping, and Emily couldn’t help but start to chuckle.  It felt like _immediate_ karma after JJ’s continued pushing and prodding into the profiler’s love life.

“We know, we know, we know, don’t say it,” Penny started to defend the two of you holding her hands up in defense as best she could with the bags hanging off her arms.  There was a reason you were her favorite shopping buddy, _especially_ when it came to shopping for Henry or Jack. “But when you see what’s in here, and they were calling to us, I _swear,_ and they were _all_ on sale, and when you think about it, that means – “

“It doesn’t mean that we helped the economy, Penny,” you sighed, looking upwards as your shoulders slumped a little, like you’d heard her say that _repeatedly_ and tried to correct her already.  “ _If_ these sales weren’t simply an attempt to advertise and bring in customers when all they did was mark up the price so they could sell it for the original price as part of a ‘sale,’ purchasing items during a sale runs the risk of cutting into the store’s profits, which is antithetical to the entire purpose of retail.”

Penny whipped her attention to you to shoot you an angry pout and a huff, like she’d heard you say that multiple times already.

“Yeah, please tell me all of those aren’t for my son,” JJ cut in as she handed you your coffee, a vanilla caramel latte, and kept eyeing the bags both you and Garcia were carrying.

“Mine are,” you admitted, unapologetically, as you held your coffee in both hands and nodded to the tiny bag in Penny’s hand, “Penny went into a _particular_ shop for the tiny bag.  It’s for Kevin.  It’s _not_ something shiny, I didn’t ask, I was mid smoothie when Penny told me _all_ about it, everything’s been smelling like strawberry-lemonade for the last two hours and, mind you, you’re lucky we didn’t go over your head and get him a puppy.”

Alright, fine, Penny had an excuse as Henry's fairy godmother.  You had _nothing._   You had an excuse to spoil Jack, after Haley was murdered Hotch had asked you to help his sister-in-law look after the boy if anything happened.  You were going to go through hell and back to make sure that wasn't necessary, but you still had that excuse to fall back on if Hotch called you out on spoiling his son.

JJ wanted to be cross, she knew she should be because the two of you were _spoiling_ Henry even if it was out of love, but she couldn’t help but laugh at your retelling of the event.  It was _amazing_ the kinds of things the four of you could get up to, whether together or apart, and she could _see_ the event happening in her mind’s eye.  You were probably quite content waiting for Penny as you did a little window-shopping, and then Penny practically skipped over to you to tell you – without any build-up or forewarning – just what she’d gotten for Kevin.  It wouldn’t be Penelope’s sudden appearance at your side that caught you off guard, but her announcement, and then you ended up snorting strawberry-lemonade smoothie out your nose.

And that was just you and Penny.

A few months ago, a guy in the bar caught the attention of the four of you.  He was far too calculated, his act was too careful, and he blended in just a little _too_ well for a ‘tourist.’  A few hours later you were arresting him for attempted murder.

“It is my duty as a fairy godmother to spoil the child!” Penelope defended herself after trying to elbow you through the bags hanging off both her arm and yours, a gentle retort from your teasing, “And Henry is finally old enough to be fun when opening presents, I am _not taking them back!_   Give me my coffee and no one’s gonna get hurt.”

Emily was still chuckling as she handed Penelope her complicated coffee order.

“Half-caf extra shot venti, two-pump nonfat, hold the whip caramel macchiato.”

“Mm-hmm.  Next stop, Xanadu,” Penny smiled as the three of you lightly tapped the lids of your coffee cups together while JJ checked her phone.

“Xana- _don’t_.  Time to go to the BAU ladies.”

The three of you sulked at JJ’s announcement, she was just as upset as the rest of you but carried it a bit better, though the fact Emily was hoping to meet someone crossed her mind and she couldn’t help but think aloud.

“Maybe I should get a cat…”

 

********

 

All four of you had dressed up, at least a _little_ , to go out and there was _no_ missing that.  You tossed your peach colored sweater over the back of your seat in the round-table room, the bags upon shopping bags stuffed into the back of your car along with Penny’s shopping bags, and there were some chuckles as the guys started to filter in.  Hotch had already apologized for ending _girls’ night_ , though the four of you shrugged it off as just _part of the job_.  You’d left the meeting room to grab a pen at your desk, the mid-thigh skirt of your sleeveless black dress decorated with ornate peach-colored flowers bounced a bit with each step, your pastel peach heels quiet against the carpeted floor.

“Another girls night got cancelled?” Morgan asked as he and Spencer dropped their things off at their desks before walking with you back to the round-table room, “That’s two weeks in a row, isn’t it?”

You quickly caught onto what Morgan was leading the conversation to.

“I’m not telling you what _Sin to Win_ is.”

“Awe, come on pretty girl,” Morgan laughed despite the fact you’d just called him out in front of _most_ of the team, “You gotta call me out in front of _everyone?”_

“If you have to ask, she does,” Spencer chimed in as the two of you took your seats at the table.  The lighthearted banter was going to continue, despite the fact _all_ of your weekend plans had been cancelled in one fell swoop, before the last absent member of the team sulked in wearing a black tux and an untied bowtie.

“Sorry to ruin your night,” Hotch apologized once again when Rossi stepped up to the table.

“What, are you working on wife number four?” Morgan teased with a grin, the rest of you just as amused.

“I see you people _way_ too much,” Rossi made sure _all_ of you knew that before he sat down.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch, regrettably, cut into the lighthearted revelry.

“Alright, Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska,” JJ started, standing at the head of the table, prepared to start bringing up the necessary images onto the screen while the rest of you flipped open your copies of the case file to take a look, “There’s three people dead in less than a week.”

“For a town with a population of 1,476 that’s fairly significant.”

You weren’t even _surprised_ that Spencer knew these things anymore.

“It’s their first murder investigation on record.”  JJ brought up the bigger issue, giving all of you an idea of what you’d be dealing with, considering the locals wouldn’t have an idea of what was going on.  Then there was trying to keep it quiet, that wasn’t about to happen.

“Who are the victims?” Rossi questioned, wondering if there was some sort of connection or if they held some sort of authority in the small community.

“Jon Baker, a hunter.  Dedaimia Swanson, a school teacher.  Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat,” JJ listed off as she brought up photos of the victims onto the TV screen, “There’s a new victim every two days.”

“Any connections?” Emily tried to narrow down victimology, but in a town as small as Franklin…

“In a town just barely too big to be called a village?” you shifted your gaze from the file to Emily, who nodded as she remembered the… _unique_ situation the team would be dealing with in Franklin.

 _Everyone_ was connected.

“Different kill methods,” Morgan pointed out as he kept looking over the file, “It says the first two victims were shot with a rifle, but Brenda Bright was stabbed twice with an arrow?”

“Are we sure it’s the same guy?” Rossi brought up the worst-case scenario, something that would still require the attention of the BAU before the members of the town eliminated themselves.

“All three victims were found in heavily trafficked areas.  The unsub wants them found sooner rather than later,” Hotch brought up the one part of M.O. that was similar across all three victims.

“Jon Baker’s body was left exposed to the elements, but the two women were buried under mounds of trash,” Emily brought up the differences in dump sites, “Why?”

“It could be a sign of remorse,” Spencer suggested, looking up from the file, “Cover their bodies so he doesn’t have to face the reality of what he’s done.”

“Or he thinks that the women are trash and he just placed them where he thinks they belong,” Morgan brought up another possibility.

“Or, Jon Baker was his first murder and he’s still developing his M.O.,” you cut in as you sat back, “This is a small town, a _very_ small town, he doesn’t have the same kind of anonymity most of our unsubs have when growing into their pattern.”

“Well, we can’t be sure of anything yet,” JJ reminded the rest of you that throwing theories around before even getting to Franklin might not be helpful, “Franklin is an isolated fishing community that’s been hit really hard by the current economy.  Add to that a series of unsolved murders and everyone’s on edge.”

“The local sheriff’s out of his depth, and Alaska hasn’t handled a serial investigation since Robert Hansen in the eighties,” Hotch brought up the series of reasons why Alaska was so quick to pass the investigation on to the BAU.  “We’ll fly out tonight, everybody can sleep on the plane.  Garcia, I need you with us.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve tasked a satellite uplink, and it’s your job to keep us connected.”

“Yes, sir.”  Garcia was still in a bit of a daze with that fact, it was rare for her to be brought along into a case.  She could usually guess which ones she’d be tagging along for but…this one caught her off guard.

“This town’s already on the brink, and if this pattern continues, we’ve only got another day until the next murder.  Let’s finish this fast.”


	57. Sleeping Arrangements And Meddling Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not fighting with my cat anymore. He’s currently cuddling while I type.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Sleeping Arrangements And Meddling Friends

 

Everyone had to go home and _re_ -pack their go-bags, trading out the usual for something more suited for the middle of nowhere, but you’d all managed to get to the plane quickly before sleeping through the _long_ flight.

“This guys’ all over the map,” Emily brought up the main struggle with victimology after everyone had woken up and gotten some coffee to start the day, “Crosses sex and race boundaries, he changed his kill method, it says to me he’s disorganized.”

“Yet, there weren’t prints at any of the crime scenes,” Rossi countered in his seat next to Emily at the table, yellow notepads and copies of the file scattered about, “And he isolated his victims.”

“Wearing gloves and making sure there aren’t any witnesses, that’s a no brainer.  But what concerns me is the evolution of the kills,” Morgan left the copy of the file on his lap be as he joined in.  JJ furrowed her brow and turned to Morgan.

“Evolution?”

“Well, he started with easy prey,” Morgan went further into detail, “Jon Baker was in his mid sixties, it’s relatively low-risk for a first-timer.  Dedaimia Swanson was in her early fifties, she wouldn’t be that difficult to overpower.”

“But he didn’t have to overpower either one of them, both victims were shot,” Spencer brought up the M.O. for the first two victims, questioning just _exactly_ where Morgan was going.

“That’s the point.  He went from an easy target, using an easy kill method, to a victim that could defend herself and chose to stab her instead, giving her a chance to try and defend herself.”  You closed your copy of the file and kept it on your lap.

“Maybe he didn’t get what he wanted from his first two victims,” Rossi threw out a pending theory as Hotch continued to watch as the rest of you threw theories around, leaning back against the bar next to the couch.  “Brenda Bright was an attractive woman.  He used an arrow, but he didn’t shoot her with it, he stabbed her.  I think we all know what _that_ means.”

Stabbing could _very_ commonly be seen as a substitution for sexual penetration.

“When we land in Anchorage, there’ll be a float plane to take us to Franklin,” Hotch filled the rest of you in on the exact travel plans before splitting you up to cover different parts of the investigation.  “When we get there, Morgan and Prentiss work the crime scene, we need to know exactly how he ambushed his victims.  Reid and Rossi, the bodies.  Find out what you can get there.  JJ, [Y/N], and I will work victimology.  And, Garcia, town records, find us something we can use.”

“Of course, sir,” Garcia took the chance to give you yet another warning of how _far_ into the boonies you were heading, “I should let everybody know that reception in the area is unreliable _at best_.  I’m giving everybody satellite phones for communication, I’ve already pre-programmed all your digits into speed-dial.  Guess who’s lucky number seven.”

“Last week it was the humid hell of Florida, now it’s the freezing tundra of bum-fuck nowhere Alaska,” you brought up as you placed your copy of the file onto the table and sat back on the couch, “This was _not_ something I was told about before applying.”

 

********

 

Your black knee-high boots were old, really old, but they were sturdy, warm, and comfortable like the worn skinny jeans you’d tucked into them.  You tugged your old blue and white plaid scarf a bit tighter over the collar of your black jacket against the chill in the float plane that cut through the fact you were squished between Spencer and Penny in the very small cabin.

Deputy Flack met the team first, everyone but Morgan and Prentiss leaving the dock to get to work as the other two remained to take a look at the nearby crime scene.  The rest of you climbed into the old yellow car belonging to the local man giving you a ride into the sheriff’s department.  Sheriff Rhodes greeted the team, a middle-aged man who was grateful for the assistance and well aware of the fact he was in over his head.

“So, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you all could come.  The people here are really starting to act up,” he filled you in on the current mood of the town, “I’m afraid our little town’s a bit of a powder keg.”

“Where would you like us to set up, sir?” JJ was hoping to get to work soon, you all were, mostly because if you _didn’t_ there would be another body within the _day._

“See, there’s not much room at the station because there’s also the post office,” he answered lightheartedly, a little crooked smile at the quaint little town he looked after, “But, I have made arrangements for you to work out of Carol’s tavern, which is right over there.”

He literally pointed to the largest building in the center of town, a classic two-story white tavern lined in deep brown, and right across the road.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nodded before leading the rest of you towards the tavern, picking up your bags to get to work across the street.

“Thank you, appreciate it.”

Everyone sort of tucked their bags away in a corner in the first-floor lobby and settled in the otherwise empty tavern and inn.  You quickly shed your scarf and unbuttoned your sweater, shoving the sleeves of both your blue sweater long-sleeve shirt up to your elbows and getting to work on victimology with JJ and Hotch as Spencer and Rossi made their way to the doctor’s office to look at the bodies.  There wasn’t _much_ to go on yet, especially since Garcia was still setting up and connecting to the satellites.  It had taken so long just to get there…time was already wasting.

On top of everything, the members of the town were already losing their shit.  There was a man who moved into town not long before the murders started, so a life-long local figured that was who was killing everyone and assaulted the new resident.  Hotch tried to talk the sheriff into a town hall meeting with the residents, hopefully he’d allow JJ to join to help smooth things over, but the sheriff said it best when he replied, “This is Alaska, people do what they want.”

“He’s already experimenting with his victims.”  Rossi used a nearby fire stoker to nudge one of the logs deeper into the center of the fire in the fireplace as you all gathered around to discuss what you’d already found, “He violated Brenda Bright with an arrow.”

“And he’s inciting panic.  People who have lived here most of their lives are packing up to leave,” Morgan leaned forward against the back of the couch, the team had taken over the entire tavern, and it wasn’t nearly large enough for anyone else.

“Can you blame them?” JJ had curled up in the corner of the couch, leaning against the side table as memories of growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania came flashing back.  She went through hell trying to get out, and there wasn’t even a murderer causing chaos.  “We have a psychopath whose hunting ground is a town of 1,400 people.”

“Most of them grew up learning to kill animals and start fires,” Spencer added, looking up from staring into space towards the coffee table after everyone else reported what they’d found, taking the hot cup of coffee you’d gotten for him as you got your own.

“It sounds like your basic survival skills.”  The sheriff, unwittingly, expressed what was _exactly_ the issue.

“That’s part of the problem,” you explained gently as you carefully took a seat on the armrest of the cushioned chair Spencer was sitting in.  You weren’t even thinking.  It was just instinct, muscle memory, whatever caused you to do it.  “In most cases, we can narrow down a suspect by looking at their childhood, if they harmed animals, if they had a fascination with fire.  In this case, it won’t do us any good.”

“They’re _hunting_ skills,” Rossi brought up, specifying exactly what the unsub was doing, “Think about it.  The marksmanship, the urine – it makes sense.”

“The _urine_ makes sense?”  It made no sense to Morgan, and to be honest it didn’t make much sense to you either.  Most of you were running on the assumption that it was just part of the unsub’s M.O., that it would make more sense the deeper you got into the profile.

“It’s a hunter’s trick,” Rossi leaned against the mantle, “You urinate downwind to keep the animals away.”

“He tried to preserve Jon Baker’s body so it would be discovered intact,” Hotch concluded, leaning forward in his seat on the opposite side of the coffee table.

“All right, so we’ve got a psychopath with hunting skills who knows the routines of everyone in town,” JJ summed up the predicament you were all in, “How are we supposed to keep everyone safe?”

“Sheriff, I suggest you institute a curfew until we have the unsub in custody,” Hotch looked up towards the sheriff, leaning against the mantle as everyone gathered to discuss the evidence and put forth a plan of action.

“I’ll have one of my deputies patrolling around the clock.”

“Garcia, how’s it coming with town records?”

“I’ve run everyone who’s been run through CODIS.  Nothing’s come up so far,” she reported before relaying her plan to keep things moving as best she could, “I’m gonna pull an all-nighter, finish going through the town records.  Should have background checks by sunrise.”

“Good,” Hotch nodded once as he started to get up, “The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”

“I’ve got four of the upstairs rooms available,” Carol, the owner of the tavern, let the team know after meandering over to offer some more coffee from the half-empty pot in her hand.  That caught just about everyone off guard, save for Hotch and Rossi, but Spencer was the one to ask.

“Uh… _four?”_

“Come on, that’s the best we can do.  Your team is double the size of my department,” Rhodes spoke lightly as Carol seemed just as amused at the _‘city folk’_ that seemed to be continually surprised at just how small the town was, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Both Carol and the sheriff left the rest of you to work out sleeping arrangements.  Morgan was the first to speak.

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.”

“ _Dibs!”_ Garcia immediately clapped her hand over Morgan.

“Come on Emily,” JJ got up, the teasing lilt in her voice catching your attention, especially since you couldn’t tell if she shot that look at _you_ or at _Spencer_ , “Bed time.”

“Jokes on you, Jay.  Emily mumbles in her sleep.”  Emily shot you a look of betrayal as you stood up and patted Spencer’s shoulder, “Come on, smarty-pants.”

You knew what the girls were getting at, you weren’t _stupid._

Was there _no end_ to their _meddling?_


	58. There Is No Thrill In Witnessing Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I, once again, go for the cliché rom-com trope that I love even though it’s such a cliché? Will I not? We shall see.
> 
> Also, idk if I explained this in an earlier note or if I was successful, but I feel like sharing so meh.
> 
> So, the team has sets of two they normally break off into and – we’re SPECIFICALLY focusing on pre season 6 – it’s generally the ‘fighter and thinker’ set up. But, it’s kinda like different grades. Like, in the normal Rossi and Hotch partnership, Rossi gets most of his sage advice from age and experience, but he was a Marine. BAU grandpa knows how to fight, and Hotch isn’t an idiot. He’s the one making the plans, leading the team, even protecting them from the higher-ups and playing game with the bureaucracy without fucking over the team. He’s a good profiler and was a lawyer, he might be fully capable of literally punching a guy to death but he’s smart.
> 
> Then we’ve got the Emily and Morgan partnership, which is kind of the middle ground. Morgan is normally the one leading the SWAT team, using the M5, even carrying a silenced rifle at times. Guy’s a badass, but he’s also really good with people. He’s really good at reading people, charming them, getting them to talk to him one way or another. Emily is just as much of a badass, tossing a flash-bang grenade into a car or almost getting blown up twice in one day, but even though she can kick ass her first defense is her brain. She’s sociable, she knows how to use the fact she’s a female to get people to talk, she’s gone on really dangerous undercover missions and survived without throwing a single punch. She’s really clever.
> 
> Then, in this fic, we’ve got the sort of ‘glass canons,’ Rea and Spencer. Sure, Rea is smart, but she’s nowhere near Spencer’s level of genius. However, she’s a lot better with people and can have people telling her their deepest, darkest secrets with a bat of her eyes and a flip of her hair. That is, when she’s not fighting off heavily armed and highly trained men specifically aiming to kill her. She’s a very ‘fight smarter not harder’ kind of person, and she’s clever enough to keep up with Spence, but let’s not pretend she’s the academically smarter of the two. Then there’s Spence, a literal ‘smartest man there ever was’ if there was one. He gets better at dealing with people over time, even when comparing season two to season one, and he – for very depressing reasons – gets better with firearms and fighting off a threat, even literally kicks down a few doors later in the series, but he’s not about to super-spy his way out of a fight like Rea ‘has the nickname Black Widow because she’s just that badass’ Readerson. It’s a very ‘Sherlock and Watson’ relationship, with Spence as Sherlock and Rea as Watson.
> 
> And I just realized that, most of the time, when a fic features a ‘Sherlock and Watson’ kind of relationship, the Rea is normally Sherlock

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### There Is No Thrill In Witnessing Death

 

Spencer had talked you into letting him take the floor, though it didn’t take much argument after he poked a sore spot on your shoulder that had been bothering you.  The soreness was going to be an on-again, off-again thing for a while, and you weren’t all that careful about _not_ stressing it despite the fact you’d been shot there a month and some odd weeks ago.  The muscle was mostly healed, it was the _bone_ the bullet hit that had yet to completely heal.

You were curled up into a ball, hugging your pillow as your head rested on the upper corner, when Spencer sat on the edge of the bed and carefully woke you up.  You didn’t need a knife under your pillow to sleep soundly anymore, any ghosts that would come after you in your sleep had been slain, but Spencer still didn’t want to spook you.  He carefully placed a hand on your arm, still half-asleep himself, and gently coaxed you out of your dreams, “[Y/N], come on.”

You took a deep breath and turned to eye Spencer, your hair a mess and your mood definitely cross as you detested being woken up before your alarm went off.

“There’s another victim, Garcia witnessed it.”

You got up as quickly as you could, wincing as your shoulder ached, before getting dressed as quickly as you could.  While just about everyone else left to examine the body at the scene, you stopped on your way down the stairs before taking the left turn instead of the right, joining Penelope and Morgan at the bar, where Morgan was carefully wiping the blood and tears from Penelope’s cheek.  She was just briefly taken out of her daze when you gently took one of her hands in your own and she started rubbing her thumb against the soft texture of your sweater for some comfort, before it all started playing through her head again.

“He was alive…”

“What?” Morgan gently persuaded Penny to explain further, pulling the damp cloth away from her cheek to let her talk.

“He was still alive…”

“Baby, there’s nothing else you could have done,” Morgan ducked down a bit, leaning to the side to stay in Penny’s field of vision as she started to daze out again.

“I _felt_ him _leave.”_   It wasn’t the death itself that struck her, it was _feeling_ someone’s life just… _end._   It was something that…it was indescribable for all the _wrong_ reasons.

“You never really get used to that,” you spoke quietly as you gently brushed her bangs, the fiery ginger color glowing in the dim light of the tavern, “It hits you just as hard every time.”

You felt Penny tugging on your sleeve as she nodded a bit, finding comfort in the fact someone _knew_ , that someone like you was still shaken by it, and you let her play with the edge of your sleeve as she needed.  Her deep breath was a little wheezy as she held back her tears, her voice cracking as she kept talking her way through it.

“He was there one second, and then – just a _body_.”

“I’m really sorry you had to see all of that.”  Morgan had hoped Penny would never have to see that, _especially_ after she’d been shot over two years ago.  It was something the rest of you had grown used to, not immune but familiar, but he’d hoped she’d never have to experience it.

“Derek, I – I didn’t _see_ , I was _in it._   I was sort of used to seeing horrible things from the safety of my screens every day, but this was…” Penny took another deep breath to try and compose herself as the tears burned and threatened to fall, “Right there.”

“You could have gotten one of us, running out there was dangerous,” you were gentle as you spoke, not chastising or lecturing, but _worried._

“When I got shot…I remember thinking…” Penny was quiet as she spoke, the tears falling as she just barely kept her voice from cracking, “The last thing I’m ever gonna see in this life is the man who killed me, and I couldn’t let that happen to him.  He had to see something good before he died.”

“You ran right towards the unsub, you could have been killed,” Morgan was gentle as well, but he was far more up-front with the fact Penny ran right towards the danger even though she didn’t carry a gun, let alone have any basic firearms training.  Even if she _did_ she’d never carry a gun.  She didn’t _want_ to.

“I know that, don’t treat me like I’m the victim.”  She didn’t want to be treated like a victim, ever, but she didn’t like that the attention was going to _her_ instead of the man who had just been murdered.

“All right, I’m sorry,” he promised, before bringing up the need for a few further questions, “I wanna ask you a couple of questions, all right?”

“No, I – I told you everything I saw.”

“You said the man’s face was mostly in shadow, but there was also a lot of blood.  You could have seen – “

“Derek, let it _go_ ,” you pushed as you pulled your hand away, Penelope following due to her grip on your sleeve, before gently pushing the analyst towards JJ who was waiting by the stairs for a good time to step in, “Go ahead, I’m sure you want to clean up, JJ will be here for you when you’re finished.”

JJ nodded in the affirmative, of _course_ she’d be there.  Penelope was one of her best friends, the (fairy) godmother to her child, JJ would be right there when Penelope needed her.

“Morgan, you need to be careful, Penelope’s not like us,” you waited until you were alone to talk it out, Morgan had sat back and let you step in, if only because he knew you’d _explain_.  “You and I can take a bullet and shrug it off.  If we survive a near-death experience, we’ll be pissed it happened, but a few days later and the only reason we even remember is because we need to keep the stitches clean.  Penny isn’t like that, she’s not just buried in what she saw this morning, the whole thing brought up what happened when she got shot.  If we’re going to question her about it, we need to wait.”

Morgan took a deep breath, breaking eye-contact to look aside before looking back at you.  “I just wanna get her out of here.”

“I know,” you stepped around to wrap an arm around Morgan in a half-hug he returned, “Me too.”

 

********

 

“I’m guessing the M.O. changed once again,” you start as you and Morgan met up with the others outside, hands tucked into your coat pockets against the chill of the early morning, too early for the sun to be up.

“Craig Ramey, fisherman, he was planning on leaving town,” Hotch summed up the basics for the two of you.

“Reid thinks the unsub took the liver or spleen,” Rossi brought up what had to be the most unpleasant part, which also happened to be yet _another_ change in M.O.  You didn’t need to mention the fact that the unsub had accelerated his schedule, there was supposed to be another day before the next kill, and the only explanation was that Ramey was trying to get out of town – _fast._

“Was Garcia able to give you any new information?” Hotch asked, hoping for _something_ to go on, anything.  You and Morgan shared a brief look before he answered.

“She’s given all she can.”

“This guy’s taunting us, he’s one step ahead.”  Rossi had a naturally confrontational nature, it didn’t take a profiler to notice that, and given the circumstances it was a fair assumption.  But…

“I think you’re giving him more credit than he deserves,” Hotch warned before going further into detail, “I think Emily and [Y/N] are right, he’s all over the place.  The victimology’s inconsistent, the methodology’s evolving, the first kill was sloppy, hesitant, and unplanned.”

“It was an accident,” Emily shared her theory about the first murder, her tone softer in the way it was when she was sharing something untested or undiscussed by the team.  “But it triggered a sexual response, he got off on it.”

“All he knew was he had to kill again, but he didn’t know _how_ ,” you finished the theory, agreeing with Emily as you looked away from her and to the others.

“He learned how to get the job done more efficiently,” Morgan nodded, hands tucked into his coat pockets against the chill.

“Yeah, but why the organs?” Sheriff Rhodes questioned, standing a few steps back as he let the experts discuss before bringing up the question that had been nagging at his mind since the doctor brought it up.

“Consumption typically indicates a desire to keep the victim with them,” Spencer answered as he crossed the dried cold grass to rejoin the group after speaking with the doctor, staying during the initial stages of the autopsy to see exactly what organ was taken and how.  “He’s having trouble letting go, we’re probably looking for someone with severe abandonment issues.”

“It’ll be light soon.  Let’s get everybody together and go over what we know,” Hotch laid out the plan, letting the team disperse briefly before rejoining in the warmth of the tavern, with the entirety of the sheriff’s department as well.  Day had broken by the time you could gather everybody, and there had been enough time for everyone to grab some coffee and a quick breakfast – nothing more complicated than toast – before briefing the local department on what to look for.

“We’re looking for an emotionally immature male, probably in his mid-to-late twenties who suffered a traumatic loss,” Hotch started as the last few members of the department grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down while others were already taking notes.

“Now, this loss could be anything,” Morgan warned them not to focus too much on those who had suffered the death of a loved one, “Death of a parent, separation of a spouse, a loved one who moved away.  Something that made the unsub feel abandoned and alone.”

“He’ll have extensive hunting experience.  Bodies were buried not because of remorse, they were buried to protect them from wild animals,” Rossi brought up the difference between the average hunting skills that everyone in the town had, and the small group of _hunters_ that supplied most of the town’s meat supply.

“His familiarity with the victims’ routines suggests the unsub has lived here for most of is life,” Emily effectively crossed any newcomers off the list of potential suspects, “He also has extensive knowledge of the landscape and surroundings.”

“So, we should split up and cover the town,” Hotch laid out the plan, “Focus on younger residents with a history of petty crimes and assaults.”

“As unpleasant as it might be, we should look in their garbage, fireplaces, laundry, for signs of bloody clothes.  Look at them for cuts or bruises, some of the victims may have landed a few strikes before they died,” you listed off smaller things to look for, things that could normally go unnoticed in the small town.

“Bring in anyone who seems to have something to hide,” Rossi focused on the fact it was a _small town._   Living in a small town comes with the expectation that nothing stayed secret for long.  “The unsub has already broken pattern, so he could strike again at any time.”

“Sheriff, you and I need to look at the school.  Talk to the teacher, see if she remembers any students exhibiting early signs of homicidal tendencies,” Hotch gave one last direction before ending the short briefing as he headed for the door, grabbing his coat on the way out, “Let’s move.”

 

********

 

After speaking with the current school teacher, the only one remaining with the murder of the second victim, there was finally a real suspect.

Joshua Beardsley, the tavern owner’s son.  He was about 23, he’d returned home from Anchorage after his father died, and that wasn’t long before the first victim.  Hotch immediately grabbed his satellite phone, calling Rossi to get you and head to the precinct.  Picking who would question a suspect was a delicate art, one that Hotch had gotten _really_ good at during his time as the unit chief.  In a town that _raised_ men to be _traditional_ alpha males hunting for food to provide for their families, _experience_ was called for.  Rossi had, as one of the agents responsible for turning the BAU into what it is today, more experience as a profiler than _anyone_ on the team – arguably more than everyone still remaining in the BAU as a _whole_.  With your previous career, you had more experience dealing with killers that could be described as _hunters_ , whether they be professional killers who found a career that fulfills their personal need or they were simply killing because they _needed_ to.  The two of you knew what to look for, how to deal with Joshua, how to pivot as needed given the _specific_ circumstances.

It was hardly the metaphorical _big guns_ for an interview or interrogation, but Hotch honestly hoped he’d _never_ have to send _both_ you and Reid into an interrogation at the _same time._

You and Rossi commandeered the use of a desk in the sheriff’s department, Rossi taking a seat at the desk while you sat on the edge of the desk just behind him, while Joshua sat in an old metal and poorly cushioned chair to the side.  You’d spotted Joshua speaking with Garcia earlier, overhearing only part of their conversation regarding his discomfort at the fact the team was snooping on the residents of the town instead of asking them outright, but there had been so much to do just to catch up upon arrival that you couldn’t overhear the entire conversation.

“The strike was above the gut,” Rossi began, pulling a photograph of the latest victim out of the file and showing it to Joshua, “It keeps the meat from spoiling.  Isn’t that right?”

“On a dear, maybe.” Joshua answered, not even phased by the photographs of the victim that Rossi was laying out in front of him, “Doubt it’d be the same for a human.”

“But then he did something interesting,” Rossi grabbed another photo, giving it a look before placing it in front of Joshua as you watched his reactions, “He took the victim’s spleen.  Now, tell me, why would he do that?”

Joshua breathed out a scoff, _city folk_ , before answering, “No idea.”

“You’re hardly an _idiot_ , Joshua, you know why you’re here,” you quipped, cutting through Joshua’s insistence on being _difficult_ , “You can either cooperate for us, or make things worse than they already are.”

He took a deep breath, calming his nerves and irritation as he answered, still cross, “It’s a Native hunting tradition, isn’t it?  Eat part of the kill, gain the life force of your prey.”

“Not many people know that.”

“I’m not _many people._ ”  On one hand, it was sort of refreshing to hear those words matched with that smirk from a man that _wasn’t_ trying to pick you up.  On the other hand, considering the circumstances, you’d rather hear it from an overconfident man under the _impression_ he’s an alpha-male when, in reality, he’s a beta _at best._

“When did you learn to hunt?” Rossi questioned, seemingly changing the subject while giving the two of you the chance to _see_ how Joshua reacted to being asked about his hunting prowess.

“Bagged my first deer when I was seven.”  He was proud, _very_ proud.  _Disturbingly_ proud.

“That’s pretty young.”

“My dad taught me how to live off the land.  I ate the heart of my first kill.  Now _that_ ,” Joshua pointed to the two of you, like he was about to _teach_ you something, “proves you’re a real hunter.”

“You enjoy hunting?” you asked, like you were making semi-casual conversation, as Rossi gathered the photographs and tucked them back into the file.

“It’s my favorite thing to do.”

“So, you take pleasure in the kill?” you questioned a bit more carefully, Rossi looking up to watch Joshua’s response as you did.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No,” you answered firmly, pulling on far too much experience, “They don’t.”


	59. A Shift In The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and fluffy awkwardness alert!!
> 
> Not gonna lie. Getting super excited now that we’re getting to the REAL romance.
> 
> :D
> 
> Also, y’all are gonna scream or want to scream for whatever reason before you’re half-way through the chapter. Side-effect of the slow burn.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### A Shift In The Wind

 

Joshua fit the profile, but he didn’t have anything to hide.  Neither you nor Rossi were sure if Joshua was or wasn’t the unsub.  Hotch decided, with the acceleration in the attack cycle, it was best to keep Joshua in lockup for the night.  The problem was, as the sheriff pointed out, half the town matches the profile.  Just because Joshua was a hunting prodigy that took pleasure in killing his prey didn’t mean he was the unsub.

It was a risky gamble, but one that had to be taken.

To top things off, Carol found out you’d detained her son and the sheriff was having trouble keeping members of the town convinced that having the team there was best.  Add that with his own shaken faith in the fact that nobody in the town was capable of becoming a murderer, and the fact that there was still a chance that Joshua didn’t commit the murders and there would be another one later that night – something you were growing more convinced would happen when you learned even Penny was sure it wasn’t him as he knew she didn’t carry a gun – things were getting worse by the second.

All three of the victims, however, were planning on leaving town.  Jon Baker had just recently went through a divorce and was leaving town, Dedaimia Swanson was retiring to Florida, Brenda Branson accepted a job in Seattle, and Craig Ramey was moving his entire family as a result of the crumbling economy mixed with the recent murders.  It was the one thing connecting all the victims that really stuck out, especially considering the fact the unsub had severe abandonment issues, and that led the team to _Kat Allen_.

She accepted a scholarship to the University of Bloomington, currently working as a waitress at the local coffeehouse.

You were just returning to the tavern as Morgan and Prentiss made their way to the coffeehouse to talk to Kat, the remaining members gathered around the makeshift base of operations filling you in as you shrugged off your coat.

Kat Allen had told her mother and her boss that she was leaving, but it wouldn’t take much for the entire town to find out, so she was taken home to pack a few things before Morgan and Prentiss brought her to the tavern to be kept under the watchful eye of the team.  Her decision to leave was brought about by an unexpected pregnancy by a man she’d met on a cruise, deciding to leave for college to give her daughter a better life.  Admirable, but sadly something the unsub would use as a reason to kill her.  For her comfort, she was staying in the same room as Emily and JJ, giving the rest of you to – hopefully – get _some_ rest.

Beyond that, and beyond Penny continuing to filter through the town’s secrets after regrouping and doing what she could to solve the case and get the _hell_ back home, there was nothing the team could do.

“Absolutely not,” you snapped after stepping out of the bathroom and catching Spencer setting up his makeshift bed on the floor, “It was _freezing_ last night and it’ll be even colder tonight, I’m not waking up in the morning to find a _popsicle._ ”

“I have extra blankets,” Spencer tried to protest.  He couldn’t stay in the same bed as you.  It was one thing on the couch, especially the couch on the jet when there were _other people around_ , but a bed…entirely different situation.  That was _nothing_ to say about your _pajamas_ only consisted of a long gray sleep-shirt that fell _just_ past the pink boy-shorts you were also wearing.  At the right angle he had an unobstructed view of the curve of your butt and good _god_ your legs… “I’ll be – “

“Spencer Walter Reid, I swear, if the word _‘fine’_ comes out of your mouth I’ll kill you myself.”

Spencer froze like a deer in headlights when his full name passed your lips.  The last time someone called him that was his mom over a _decade_ ago – it was closer to _20_ years ago now.  He’d been an overly-curious and hyperactive 8-year-old boy with a new chemistry set that set off the smoke detectors in the kitchen and scared the _hell_ out of the neighbors.  It was an _accident_ , everyone who knew him at that age also knew he’d _never_ do anything like that on purpose, but he was still in trouble.

That was to say _nothing_ of the sudden appearance of a _‘mom’_ voice nobody even knew you _had,_ mixed with the way you stood with your fists on your hips reminiscent of a very small, very blonde, Molly Weasley _._   Hell, _you_ didn’t even know you were capable of that until that very moment.

You blamed the team.  You didn’t need one until they came into your life and all got to work poking and prodding at the frozen walls around your heart.

Spencer carried the blankets over to the bed, tossing them and the extra pillows onto it without any further argument, still reeling from the shock, before getting into bed with you.  It was much warmer than the floor, both from the blankets and the shared body heat trapped underneath, but he was staring at the ceiling _wide awake_ as you were already starting to doze off.  You weren’t about to say anything about the fact you were dozing off faster and easier because _he_ was there.  You unconsciously started to scoot closer and closer as the room got colder and colder, until Spencer found himself instinctively wrapping an arm around you as you curled up into his side.

You were like a little monkey clinging to a branch, honestly, and as you fell deeper and deeper into sleep, Spencer couldn’t help but finally begin to doze off himself.

 

********

 

While you’d managed to protect Kat, and avoid being kicked out of the tavern after crossing Carol, the worst still happened.

Worst of all, it happened to Carol Beardsley, in her own home.

The neighbors saw her door was still open in the morning and called the sheriff’s department, and after seeing her the deputy on-call notified the sheriff.  Emily and Morgan were the first to get up and off to the crime scene, the rest of you remained back at the tavern to try and make some sense of it all.  From what Emily and Morgan had to say, this latest murder was personal.  The unsub had gone from ambushing his victims in the open to a planned home invasion, stabbed Carol repeatedly, she was gutted with her intestines spread out, blood splattered across the nearby walls, and there was blood _smeared_ on her face.

The unsub’s need to kill was too strong to put _on hold_ because Kat Allen was under the close watch of the team, so he found another target.  A target that had hurt him _personally_.  Unlike the others, Carol had broke her routine.  Carol was _originally_ supposed to be at the tavern, but left as soon as she could because you were the ones that put her son in custody.  So, not only did he attack a victim for a much more personal reason, he was _stalking_ her.

JJ and Penny remained at the tavern with Kat Allen, she still wasn’t safe until the unsub was in custody, but as Hotch met up with Emily and Morgan, you went to the precinct with Spencer and Rossi.

You really hoped Rossi didn’t notice things were a bit… _odd_ between you and Spencer.  The loud knocking on the door had woken the both of you from a _shockingly_ deep and comfortable sleep for people who were normally such light sleepers.  The two of you woke up in a tangle of limbs tucked under a pile of warm blankets, you didn’t even notice until after Spencer had told Rossi you’d be there in a second as you yawned and pushed yourself up to run a hand through your hair before realizing just what position you were in. 

Leaning on your elbow, your arm still mostly tucked under Spencer’s shoulder as you’d shifted around do cling to him during the night, and your hand placed on his chest after brushing your hair over to one side.  When the daze of sleep started to clear, the two of you realized just the position you were in, staring at each other with his arm around your waist and his other hand tucked on the bare skin of your upper thigh, just under the curve of your bum.  You were _positive_ you stopped breathing for a moment, your only proof that it had only been a _moment_ instead of the _hour_ it felt like.

Nothing _happened_ , the two of you just awkwardly pulled apart and proceeded to get dressed and ready for the day, but it was noticeable to the trained eye that there were a few extra inches between the two of you.

You were _going_ to push up the sleeves of your old gray sweater, but instinctively pulled it tighter around you as Spencer rolled up the sleeves to his dark purple shirt.  A series of curses started screaming through your head.

You were already _undeniably_ in love with your best friend, you were _always_ aware of the fact he’s an attractive man, but now you were getting a _lady boner_ in the middle of a _fucking case_.

As someone who once lived a life where the phrase, ‘oh, it’s another bomb, it must be Tuesday,’ you’ve never wanted to die more than in that _very_ moment, and it had nothing to do with the fact you had to tell Joshua Beardsley that, while he was in custody as a suspect, his mother was murdered by the actual unsub.

“You guys finally realize I’m innocent?” Joshua shot at the three of you as Deputy Flack led him out of lockup and to the desk the three of you were borrowing for the moment.

“Joshua,” she stopped and tucked her hands into her back pockets, “Please have a seat.”

“More questions?  You _serious_?  I’m telling you, I didn’t do this.”

There were more questions, but not for the reason he suspected.

“We know,” you were the one to speak first, Rossi shoving his guilt under years of experience and Spencer shifting his stance with his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye-contact for a moment.

“What’s going on?”  He shifted his gaze from you to the other two agents, eyes already red from a sleepless night in lockup.

“Josh…” Deputy Flack crossed her arms as she prepared herself to deliver the news, “The – the killer struck again last night.”

“Oh god…who’d he get?”  He was far more sympathetic, feeling for the victim as it was inevitably someone he knew, but he still didn’t suspect what was to come.  The uncomfortable silence putting him on edge as you answered gently.

“Your mother was attacked at home.”

Joshua was in shock, in disbelief, repeating the word _no_ and arguing that she had just been there, even accusing you of lying before he sat down in a chair placed against the wall.

“I wish we were,” Spencer quietly apologized, a more sympathetic voice compared to you and Rossi.

“I need to see her…”

“Not right now,” Rossi consoled, “You don’t wanna think of her that way.”

“Joshua, we know you need time to mourn,” Spencer stepped closer to the previous suspect as he spoke, “But the fact of the matter is that the man who did this is still out there, and we think that you can help us find him.”

“You had me _locked up_ while she was - ” Joshua seethed through his tears, “I could have helped her.”

“If you’d gone to her, there’s a good chance you’d both be dead,” Rossi laid out the truth of the matter as gently as he could, “Now, we need your help.”

“Why me?” Joshua was despondent, staring into the distance towards the floor.

“The murders began shortly after you came back.  We figured out he was only targeting people who were trying to leave town, but when we kept him from killing his next target he attacked your mother instead, and this time it was personal,” you laid it out as gently and vaguely as you could, trying to spare Joshua from as many messy details as you could.

“The pressure’s on.  The FBI is here,” Rossi narrated the tone moving the unsub to change his M.O.

“In that situation, a serial killer wants to finish what he started,” Spencer further explained, “He goes after the true target of his cause.”

_“Personal?”_

“Is there anyone that could have had a grudge against her, real or imagined?  It’s not about our perspective, it’s about his, whoever it is thinks your mother crossed him in some way.”  You ducked your head down, long hair draping over your shoulder as you tried to offer a more sympathetic face as you asked Joshua to think through his tears and shock.

“How about anyone with a grudge against you?” Spencer added, widening the search to anyone with something against the surviving members Beardsley family.

“No, no.  Everybody loved her.”

The three of you shared a look, the question had been too general in its nature.

“The man we’re looking for has severe abandonment issues.  Now, can you think of a time where you were you or your mother left somebody, maybe like a bad break-up or a fight that ended a friendship?” Spencer questioned as you leaned back again, the three of you carefully watching Joshua as his behavior began to shift.

“Did your mother ever take anyone in at the inn who had family problems, maybe someone who had been kicked out or lost someone unexpectedly?” Rossi widened the search to situations that didn’t directly involve Carol, situations that involved her simply helping out neighbors instead of wronging them, remembering the good things she did instead of calling out the bad.

“No,” Joshua was firm as he stood up, _too_ firm and confident, “No, no, no, no, there was nothing like that.  Uh, listen, can I go see my mom now?”

“Josh, Josh,” Deputy Flack tried to carefully keep Joshua from leaving, to get him to let you help, “You need to let these people help.”

“No, I need – I need to see my mom.”  He was desperate to get out.

“Well, let’s have someone take you.”  Rossi offered, giving Deputy Flack a reaffirming glance, giving you the opportunity to stick with him and keep him from doing something stupid.

“It’s okay.  I know the way.”

Deputy Flack followed Joshua out to speak privately as the three of you gathered to speak quietly amongst yourselves.

“Did you see his behavior shift from wanting to help us to wanting to leave?  He’s lying,” Spencer indirectly brought up the fact that Joshua likely knew just who the unsub was and, for whatever reason, wanted to keep it a secret.

“Because he knows who the unsub is,” Rossi confirmed as the three of you watched the door, “[Y/N], keep an eye on him, we’ll tell Hotch.”

“On it,” you grabbed your coat and swiftly stepped around the desk, and Spencer, to get out.  It was easier to disappear in a much larger population, even just a few hundred more people would make it easier, but you could use the foliage and poor lighting to your advantage as well.  You wouldn’t have the arsenal of a SWAT team to pull on, meaning no sniper scope to spy through, but you’d make do.  You were shrugging on your black coat and buttoning it when you heard the door open and close once again as Spencer called after you, casing you to stop and turn as he took a few steps to catch up.

“Hey, what’s up?”  It was the first time the two of you had spoken in private since that morning, and he _had_ to know that now wasn’t the time for…whatever conversation you really didn’t want to have but _knew_ he wasn’t going to let you get away from.  He practically shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, clenching his jaw as he looked away to try and gather the thoughts that always managed to get away from him in that bright mind, before looking back at you with one simple request.

“Please be careful.”

 

********

 

While you were tailing Joshua, a deputy tailing him separately, there was a shift in the profile.  There were mutilated remains found in the woods, remains the local sheriff’s department originally thought were ripped apart by a _bear_ not the _unsub._   The mutilation was experimentation, a sign of immaturity, leading to a younger unsub.  Most likely a teenager.

The only two teenagers enrolled in the local school were girls and, while it was _possible,_ it was _highly_ unlikely that the unsub was a girl.

You hadn’t been spotted, you kept your distance, you’d even climb a tree or carefully scale onto the roof of yet another abandoned shop in the town, as you continued following Joshua.  Now you were dashing through the woods after a hunting party, all of them going after a boy named _Owen Porter._   He’d been close to Joshua as a child, but when the older boy left Owen was left to the abuses of his father, and soon after he was further isolated by starting home-school not because of his father’s abuses or his mother’s fear of him leaving.

He was kept isolated because she was afraid of what he’d do if he was allowed to leave.

Joshua’s return set him off, and the accidental murder of Jon Baker was all it took to throw Owen into his all-consuming need to kill.

You only had your hand-gun and a knife tucked into your boot, everyone around you had a rifle and you didn’t even have a vest, but you also didn’t have _time_.  Joshua had already managed to shake the deputy, meaning backup was on the way, and you had to keep things from getting worse while you still could.

If you didn’t get to Owen before the hunting party, you’d have the dead body of a boy who needed help and a handful of murder suspects with family and friends to live for.


	60. It's Not About What, It's About Who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the beginning bit was supposed to be at the end of the last chapter, but I couldn’t figure out how to put the ending bit into a new chapter and if I stuck it onto the tail end of the last chapter then it would get to the point where I would just skim over the important parts if I was a reader. So, I chopped things up a bit.
> 
> Also, kids love Rea. That’s just a thing.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### It's Not About _What_ , It's About _Who_

 

Someone in the hunting party fired, hitting a nearby tree in an effort to get you to slow down, stop, or change directions, likely figuring _city folk._   Joke’s on them.  If you stopped and hid every time someone fired a _gun_ at you, you’d never get anything done.  Hell, if you stopped and hid every time you were faced with a _bomb_ , nothing would get done.

The team _knew_ you were following, Morgan and Rossi paused in their pursuit of the hunting party with the deputies when they heard the gunfire, and only miles away both Hotch and Reid were pulling out _any_ information they could out of Owens parents – to the point that Hotch would have no problem _flattening_ the father if he kept trying to interfere and telling the mother to keep quiet.  Between the scars left by his _own_ father, and the fact you were literally between Owen and the hunting party, Hotch had _no_ time for it.  Where was Owen going?  Where was he running to?

“Lake Lafayette,” his mother answered, further ignoring her husband’s orders to keep quiet, “He and Joshua built a fort there when they were younger.”

You skidded to a halt when Owen leapt onto his boat, cut off by Hotch, Sheriff Rhodes, and Spencer who all had their guns drawn, and the rest of the team tailing after the hunting party who all had their rifles aimed at Owen.  There was no ending this without a bullet, not when Joshua still refused to put his gun down, but you didn’t have a chance to move.  Rossi shot the young man in the shoulder before anyone had a chance to act.

“You _shot_ him!” one of the men exclaimed as he caught Joshua from falling onto the dock.

“Yeah, while we’re on that subject, which one of you shot at me?” you countered, now that you were free to be _angry_ about being shot at, causing the hunting party to freeze, “Let’s just call it _even,_ shall we?”

Yeah.  That was probably for the best.

You couldn’t read the look Spencer was giving you, or the look he shot Joshua, but the fact he didn’t talk to you about…whatever was on his mind threw you off a bit.  Sure, you were in an awkward situation, but…maybe it was for the best.

Best for _him_ anyway.  What was best for you was…

That didn’t matter.

 

********

 

You managed to tuck yourself away into a chair in the far corner of the jet, putting on your headphones before curling up and falling asleep, but your hopes of getting home to clear your head in privacy were dashed when you remembered that not only was your car packed with both your shopping and Garcia’s, but you’d driven her to the office in the first place.

“Okay, that’s it, I need something light and fluffy and I know the perfect topic of conversation, and since Sardine isn’t in the car I have the _perfect_ topic in mind.” Penny started the second the car doors were shut, you hadn’t even had a chance to stick the key in the ignition let alone turn the car on.  “What’s going on with you and Reid?”

“Just because you jerks shoved us into a room together doesn’t mean – “  You tried to play it off, turning the car on and fiddling with the radio a bit before putting your car into gear and checking the mirrors.

“Really, _really_?” Penny wasn’t buying it, “Because after night two, you guys were all awkward and shy, something you’ve _never_ been around each other.  So _spill_ , and don’t you go off thinking you can convince me that _‘it’s nothing.’”_

“ _First_ off, that’s a _horrid_ British accent, I sound _nothing_ like that, and if you ever do that again I will be _forced_ to kill you,” you lectured, shooting her a quick look as you left the parking garage and turned onto the road home.  Seriously, that fake accent was overplayed _Eliza Doolittle_ bad.  “ _Second_ , if we’ve gone _this_ long without an awkward moment, I think we’re long past due for one.”

“Just _tell me what happened,”_ Penny almost whined as she hopped up and down in her seat.  Something happened, something _had_ to happen.  She and JJ were _sure_ of it.  Penny didn’t even care about the pool anymore.  She was just getting sick of the sexual tension that seemed to be suffocating everyone _except_ the two people involved.  It was like the two of you breathed sexual tension like _normal_ people breath oxygen.  It was _ridiculous!_

She groaned and hit the back of her head against the headrest as you just turned up the radio and continued to drive.

You and Doc Handsome were going to be the _death_ of her.

 

********

 

Any other day and the girls would be standing on the sidelines, glaring at you and Spencer as you joined the party, but it was Henry’s birthday party.  They’d save their impatient glaring for later.

You’d wrapped all of your presents for Henry on your own, but there was no way you were getting them all there with your car on the shop and while you lived closer to Hotch, your boss had went and suggested Spencer give you a ride because it was _on the way._   The moment he said that, you looked up from your seat at your desk to give him a side-eye.  A way of saying _‘I see what you’re doing you sneaky bastard.’_   There was no getting _out_ of it, though, for _either_ of you.

After you’d deftly avoided talking about _the Alaska awkwardness,_ the two of you silently agreed to just go back to things like they were normal in the hopes that they would go back to normal.  Spencer was _absolutely_ on board with that, but when he’d arrived at your apartment door to help you carry the gifts down he realized that was going to be a _lot_ harder than he thought.

Your white short-sleeve sundress was decorated in an ornate watercolor of blue flowers and summer wheat that matched your eyes, a simple gold chain necklace trailed down the V-neck cutting down the valley of your breasts, and the loose skirt of the short dress flowed with every step you took.  To make things worse, you steps were lighter, almost like you were _dancing_ , in your white flats.  Good _god_ you were beautiful, and _so_ out of his league.  What had he been thinking?

Shortly after the… _awkward_ event in Franklin, he thought that maybe – _maybe –_ you’d had the misfortune of falling for him.  Maybe – for once – he’d have _some_ luck with love.  But no.  That’s just not how his life worked.  It’s like he forgot his entire _lifetime_ of empirical evidence proving that very point.

As he dropped you off later that evening, the party ending and the team disbanding after it was time for Henry to go to bed and it was time for Jack to get home because he had school the next day, Spencer was still struck with the image of you holding Henry and laughing as he kept playing with your hair.  Henry was old enough to recognize faces, recognize his own face in the mirror, and recognized that the pale locks he was growing were the same unbelievably, but entirely naturally, pale shade of blonde.  He’d taken to playing with your hair whether you were holding him or just sitting next to him since he’d made that discovery. 

That was to say nothing about the fact that Jack was practically glued to you due to the fact that he was still, very much, still enamored with you.  He recognized everyone on the team, you were all family and he was as comfortable with you as he was with his father and aunt Jess, but the first place to look for him was wherever you were.

Morgan joked that you just had _all_ the boys falling for you, a tease that got a laugh, but cut Spencer deeper than he hoped it would.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door, you know,” you teased as you unlocked your apartment door, holding it open for Spencer to step inside with a smile and a silent invitation he accepted.  You went about the usual motions, starting up your coffee maker for two cups after dropping your purse and sweater onto the long dining table.  You went about pulling some Thin Mints out of the freezer, you’d bought a _frightening_ amount of them from the niece of one of your neighbors as _Girl Scouts_ weren’t a _thing_ in Europe and you’d learned to stock up while you still could.

Spencer watched as you went about your kitchen, placing the box of frozen cookies onto the table before going about getting Sardine the food he was demanding despite the fact it was still a half-hour before his dinner time.  You spoiled that cat just as much as you spoiled Henry and Jack.

You were talking about… _something_ , and Spencer _wanted_ to listen, but he just…he felt his heart thudding in his _head_.  He had to leave before –

“I love you.”

Before _that_ happened.

You took a breath, placing both cups of coffee onto the table as Spencer turned to his side to face you as the _inevitable_ happened.

You just had differing opinions of what the _inevitable_ was.

“I’d normally ask what _kind_ of love we’re talking about, but given the…nature of recent events, I think that would be a waste of time,” you spoke carefully as you crossed your arms under your breast, more to comfort yourself than anything else, and focused on the yellow arrangement of long-stemmed flowers in a tall vase placed on the table just behind Spencer.  “Is there any hope in convincing you that you only _think_ that you do?”

That hurt.  He knew you could do _so_ much better, but…

“I’ve known for almost two years, now” he ducked his head down as he tucked his hands into his pockets before forcing himself to look back up at you and actually answering your question with a firm, “No, there isn’t.”

“Spencer,” you breathed out as you stepped away, running a stressed hand through your loose hair as you kept your back to the genius, knowing he was watching your every move as you tried to formulate just what to say.  You turned around, desperate to explain, finding a stride and confidence in your words after you figured out how to start.  “I can’t…I didn’t believe love – _real_ love – was anything more than an…extended sexual attraction until that Angel Maker case.  _Murderers_ were the ones that proved to me love is a real thing, and that’s only the _beginning_ of my issues.  As a human being, I am _fundamentally_ broken, and you deserve…you deserve so much better than that.”

Oh god…

_Oh god…_

It Spencer like a ton of bricks as he watched you, saw the desperation in your eyes as you weren’t trying to let him down.  You were trying to _chase him away._

You honestly _believed_ everything you said…you honestly believed you were…

You took an uneven breath when Spencer didn’t respond.  Of _course,_ he didn’t.  He’d just learned that _psychopaths_ taught you love exists.  He was in love with the _idea_ of you, not the shattered attempt at a human being raised by a _killer_ and given free reign to be _just that_ under the supervision of the international agency that later _betrayed_ you.  You’d never even had friends – _real_ friends – before you joined the BAU.  You had Emily, but she felt _responsible_ for you after everything that happened with your father.  You knew that, you weren’t _stupid._

Even with all his struggles, Spencer was still _human._   You weren’t sure if you could still make that claim.

“You are…you’re the most selfless and loving person I’ve _ever_ met,” he promised as he stepped closer to you, almost like he was approaching a wounded animal, and gently placed his hands on your cheeks to coax you into looking up at him, his heart wrenching when he saw the tears threatening to fall.  “You are funny, and sweet, and creative, and clever.  You’ll run head-first into danger to protect strangers without a second thought.  You’re careful about who you love, but even after every betrayal you still love with _all_ you are.  You can be unbelievably childish, you get mad at the rest of us when we get hurt and then run off to fight an army of trained killers all on your own.  You have no problem calling us out on our shit, even if it means hurting our feelings.  You push me to do things out of my comfort zone, you promise I’ll love it, and you’re _infuriatingly_ right _every_ time.”

“Says the bastard that beats me at Mario Kart,” you smiled and giggled a little before sniffling back the tears as you raised your hands just enough to place them around Spencer’s wrists, looking for purchase, something to hold onto.  Spencer chuckled himself, brushing a thumb against your cheekbone as he watched your tearful desperation fade and a smile began to form before his heart fell as your smile and cheer faded. 

“Spencer…the things I did…you should be with someone better.  Someone who doesn’t have all of my issues, the shadows and demons…even if they won’t come back to haunt me they’re still _there._   What I was raised and trained to be is still _there._   That part of me can’t just _go away_ because I met a few idiots in the FBI.”

“I don’t care about your past or what you were, because I know who you _are_.  I know the first time you called off was because you found Sardine and wanted to nurse him back from the brink of death.  I know you helped Rossi with his last book by getting him old MI6 and MI5 files with the information he needed.  I know you made three cakes from scratch for a bake sale at Jack’s school, and the fact that Jack loves you means more to you than anyone could imagine.  I know you helped Kevin set up his anniversary surprise for Penelope and coached Will on wine parings when he was planning a surprise for JJ’s birthday.  I know you picked up an extra custodial interview so Morgan could go home and visit his mom for her birthday, and that you brought Emily homemade soup every day when she caught the flu.”  Spencer listed off a few of the things you’d done over your years at the BAU, the unspoken little things you hadn’t even thought about.  Things you _vaguely_ remembered doing, to be honest, but the last one caused the tears burning at your eyes to fall.

“I know that after only _months_ of knowing me, you saw a recovering drug addict that should have known better than to think he could do it all alone, and decided to spend your free time helping me instead of… _literally_ anything else.”

“Of course, I did,” you spoke softly, meekly, as you nervously spoke those three little words, “I love you.”

Spencer’s smile grew unsurely, like he wasn’t sure if he’d really heard you say it, before it all just sort of… _happened._   One of his hands slid down to your waist as the hand you had loosely hanging off his wrist moved to clutch at his shirt.  Without your heels, he was a great deal taller than you, and you had to stand on your toes so he could pull you flush against him, but it was _worth it._  

His lips against yours, his arm around your waist holding you close, it all felt so _right._   Like it was, as stupidly cliché and unbelievable as it sounded, _meant_ to be.

He pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, the both of you smiling and giggling through your glee, and asked, “Any chance you’ll have dinner with me next weekend?  No team, nowhere we could run into anyone, nowhere people will recognize us.  Just _us._ ”

“I’d love that.”


	61. Off The Grid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I disappeared for a bit again. Blame the muse.
> 
> Few things. One, the smoochening is not the end of this fic – obviously cause you’re reading this – but there is still drama to be had. Two, I did the maths and yeah, the romantic confession scene we’ve all been waiting for happened before 150,000 words. The first word of the paragraph with the smooching, however, was word number 150,132.
> 
> I gotta be honest, I feel like, somewhere along the way, this fic just got away from me and became this monster-sized thing NONE of us were expecting…I legit thought it was gonna be half this size at the longest. Now, here we are at chapter 61, and we’re still not done yet.
> 
> What the diddly do have I done?

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Off The Grid

 

“I can’t _believe_ this,” Emily huffed as she, Penelope, and JJ were the first to gather in the round-table room, Hotch was finishing up with a short call and both Morgan and Rossi were on their way, “Nothing but awkward tension for _weeks_ and then it’s just _back to normal._ ”

“We knew it could be a long haul,” JJ heaved a heavy sigh as she stirred her coffee, leaning back against the counter, “It might take a while, but it’ll happen.”

“But _when_?” Penelope practically squeaked in frustration, sulking in her seat at the table, “I wanna spoil the adorable ass-kicking genius babies already.”

“There something I don’t know about baby girl?” Morgan stepped into the meeting room, taking a seat at the table.

“[Y/N] and Reid,” Emily explained the _entire_ topic conversation in just three words.

“I told you it would take more than shoving them in a room and locking the door,” he reminded the three as he sat back, playing with the pen in his hand, “They’re _adults_ , not drunk teenagers at a house party.  You gotta stop pushing so hard, if you keep doing that it might _never_ happen.”

“Well it _should_ work.  The tension was heavy enough to kill a _mammoth_ and suddenly there was _nothing._ ”

“It’s not _nothing_ , it’s _different,_ and that’s – “ JJ immediately stopped when she saw you stepping into the room, causing the girls to scatter and Morgan to turn his attention to the file in front of him.

“Yeah, sure, that’s not _suspicious_.”  The sarcasm in your voice could dent a tank, but you placed your yellow notepad onto the table and sat down, “I take it you’re not going to tell me what you were talking about?”

“Your birthday,” Penny blurted out without thinking.  Your birthday was in a week, they were already planning on taking you out during the weekend for a day of fun and a night out, it was just…not going to be as much of a surprise anymore.  Though…to be fair…they rarely ever managed to surprise you after the first time.  You learned what signs to look for.

“Oh?  Not going for a surprise this year?” you sat back in your seat, both hands holding either end of your pen as you rested your elbows on the armrests of your chair.  Your smirk was confident, and your tone was _obtrusively_ feigning curiosity.  You had them pinned, you knew it, they knew it, it would take one hell of a distraction to –

Rossi and Hotch joined the rest of you.

You’d save the questioning for another time.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch took a seat at the table as Garcia stood up to join JJ by the TV, “Reid can catch up when he gets here.”

“This is Dorris Archer, she’s the third woman to go missing in Boise, Idaho, this year,” JJ started off by pulling up the first victim’s photo onto the screen, “Along with Paula Renmar and Samantha Rush.  They went missing roughly two months apart – _well hello.”_

JJ’s teasing tone drew everyone’s attention away from the file and brought all the attention to Spencer as he joined the rest of you at the table.  Well, not so much him as his haircut.  You’d warned him this would happen when you saw it.  It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, to be _completely_ honest you cared what he did with his hair as much as he cared about what you did with yours, but that didn’t mean the team was going to refrain from teasing.  What _did_ catch you off guard was that _Hotch_ was the first to really jump on it.

“What, did you join a boy band?”  The second Hotch asked the question, the rest of you started chuckling or giggling quietly.  Hotch didn’t break his professional demeanor often, but when he did the rest of you were either left giggling or desperately trying to hold back your giggles because Hotch was so slick the locals or higher-ups _hadn’t_ _caught on._

“No.”  Boy band?  Really?  That was just _low._

“Okay, so what are we looking at here?” Emily shifted the attention back to the case at hand, starting with the basics of victimology, “Late 20’s, early 30’s.”

“All single, though two are in committed relationships, all living on their own,” Rossi listed off the pertinent information he was reading out of the file.

“Looks like normal suburban houses.  Gives the unsub privacy,” Morgan continued to flip through the file, spotting information about where the victims all lived.

“The differences are more striking than the similarities.  Different hair colors, different body shapes,” Spencer listed off the things that contradicted the _norms_ for defining an unsub’s preferred victim.

“What do we know about his M.O.?” Hotch switched the focus to something more specific.

“That’s why we were called in.  The abduction sites are pristine,” JJ warned the rest of you that usual methods weren’t going to be available this time.

“No signs of forced entry or a struggle,” you listed off as you looked over the file.

“And the victims aren’t reported missing two or three days after they’re abducted,” Emily added the last oddity into the mix.

“Two or three days, women like this don’t just _vanish_ without somebody noticing,” Rossi pointed out the flaw in the mystery.

“Yes.  Which is why I asked Garcia to dig into their lives,” JJ opened the floor for Penny as she took her own seat at the table.

“And when I took a look at their online activity, I could easily see how the unsub was doing it.”  Penny brought up open windows of the victim’s social networking accounts.

Emily was the one to pose the question, “Social networking sites?”

“Ugh, I can hear my mother in my head just _nagging_ about the dangers of social networking,” you groaned as you sat back in your seat.  You didn’t have many social networking sites, to be completely honest you had _a_ Facebook you hadn’t even looked at for two weeks, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the speech – let alone from the same woman that convinced the Romanian government that she was the last surviving member of their long-lost royalty and she was owed a _lot_ of money.

She is _so_ lucky you convinced MI6 she was the best person to take care of Micha…

“Yeah, Facebook, Twitter, you name an online life-sharing time suck, the victims were on it,” Penny filled the rest of you in on how the unsub had so much information on his victims, “and if you look at each of their last posts, they say kind of the same thing.  Going out of town, going on a business trip, going on vacation.  _But_ , when you look at the time and date stamp of each of these, cue the “Twilight Zone” music, because they were all posted the morning after each of them went missing.”

“The unsub posted them.”  It was an obvious conclusion, but one Hotch deemed needed to be said aloud.

“Social networking sites are an easy way for an unsub to target his victims.  These women were especially open,” Spencer had already flipped through the file and had it memorized despite being the last to arrive, “They posted everything from what they were having for dinner to where they were going on dates.”

“So this unsub friends his victims, and then uses that as a cover once he takes them,” Morgan proposed a general M.O., one with a little problem.

“He would still need to hack into their accounts after he captures them, so he’s at least proficient in software if not computers themselves,” you began narrowing down the type of unsub you were looking for, Penny nodding in agreement at your initial proposal.

“Definitely profiles as someone who’s patient and organized,” Spencer added to the basis of the unsub’s profile, “He’s obsessive enough to remove all forensic details, but also patient enough to wait two months before abductions.”

“He can afford to be.  He gets three days to do whatever he wants to these women,” Rossi brought up the fact that it was roughly two days before anyone noticed the women were even missing.

“That means we need to assume these women are already dead,” Hotch shifted the focus of the investigation from a missing person’s to a serial killer, “The question is what he does when he has them.”

 

********

 

You didn’t have _long_ to get to the jet, but you did have long enough to get home and re-pack your go-bag after the case in Alaska.  You doubted Hotch would let the jet take off without waiting a few minutes, but you weren’t going to take the risk and rushed as you threw things into your bag and made sure Sardine was taken care of before dashing back out.  You parked your car and waved your badge through the security office blocking access to the government tarmac before rushing towards the jet.  You were just about to leave the building when you felt someone snatching your arm to stop you.

You turned just in time to see Spencer as he pulled you close, kissing you slowly and deeply before you could react.  You just _fell_ into the kiss like you usually did, arms reaching up to drape over his shoulders as one hand delved into his hair and his hands on your hips held you flush against him.  It took a few moments before the mood to settle, for the two of you to pull away just far enough to talk.

“What was that for?”  You were coy, almost teasing, as you played with Spencer’s hair.

“Just gonna miss doing that until we get back.”  Spencer’s hand lazily trailed around to tuck into the back pocket of your white skinny jeans.  It seemed to be his favorite place to tuck his hand as the two of you walked down the street, something you’d quickly learned over the past few days since your first date.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Spencer got all his moves from _Sixteen Candles_ …because you were starting to suspect that, but considering your love for the 80’s movie you were _perfectly_ fine with that.

“I know, me too,” you admitted as you ran your hand through Spencer’s hair a few more times before reluctantly pulling away.  Neither of you were _regretting_ the decision that put you in this situation, but it did come with some unfortunate side-effects.

You loved your friends, the team was your family, but they were so involved in _everything_ it was just…it wasn’t just for yourselves that you were keeping it from them for the time being.  The two of you just wanted to find your own rhythm without interference.  It was a budding relationship, one that was _already_ serious and committed, like your first date and first anniversary happened at the exact same time or you’d been thrown into an ornate recital with _no_ preparation.  You had your own rhythm as friends, but neither of you were naïve enough to think it would be the exact same thing with more kissing.  There were small shifts that needed to be made here and there.  Nothing massive, nothing deal breaking, just little things that needed to be worked out with some time.

You’d tell them in time, but for now…

For now you’d let everyone keep arguing over the office pool they thought you knew nothing about.


	62. The Publicity of Social Media

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat has a deviated septum, so sometimes even when he’s awake he’ll sort of snore, and I can’t always tell if he’s snoring or my phone is buzzing.
> 
> ...I feel like I tell you guys too much...

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### The Publicity of Social Media

 

“So, if this unsub is using social networks to find his victims, can’t we use that to find _him_?”  Morgan had been running through ideas and leads through his head throughout the entire flight and brought up the one thing he didn’t have a solid answer for.

“Yeah,” Emily agreed, “If these women each had 100 friends following them, then the unsub would pop up on each of their lists, right?”

“Uh, the detective in charge, John Fordham, he looked into their groups,” JJ filled the rest of you in on that lead, “Everyone checked out.”

“Social networking sites are surprisingly insecure.”  Spencer explained the hole in Morgan and Emily’s theory, “Facebook recently tried to update all their privacy settings, and in doing so, they made everybody’s profiles viewable.”

“Add in the fact that, if they had their profiles set to public, seeing what they post would be as easy as a _Google_ search, there’s no need to be on the victims’ friends list,” you put the final nail in that coffin, looking up briefly from the file laying on your lap.  “That’s, of course, assuming the unsub doesn’t create a new profile or remove himself from the victims’ friends list when he hacks in.”

So, that approach clearly wasn’t going to work.

“Can somebody explain to me the appeal of these sites?” Rossi had been spending most of the flight going through printouts of the victim’s last few posts, and as the two of you had been seated on the couch you were getting one _hell_ of a kick watching his face as he read to himself.  When he started reading aloud, most of the team started laughing as _Old Uncle Dave_ made a reappearance.  “ _’Eating sushi tonight.  Yum.’  ‘Boss is keeping me late at work.  Grr.’_ Whose life is so important that we’d be interested in this kind of detail?”

“I dunno.  I guess that’s the running joke, right?” Morgan tried to explain as the giggles passed, shrugging as he elaborated, “I mean, nobody is, but we’d all like to believe that there’s an audience out there that wants to follow our every move.  You know, some sites actually have a GPS filter built in.  You can tell exactly where someone is every time they post a new comment.”

“Yeah, this is telling us how he’s finding them, but it’s not telling us ow he’s getting into their houses,” Hotch brought up the massive piece of M.O. that you were still missing.

“At the very least, I believe he has copies of their keys,” Spencer spoke quickly as he continued going through the case, “Dorris Archer had a home security system installed, but the disable code was entered at 1:56 am, so he knew that too.  He also found a way to deal with her dog.  The German Shephard she adopted from the pound last year went missing the night that she did.”

“The key is easy, all he’d need is a mold and the key for about thirty seconds, and to be honest you can make a mold out of a cheese sandwich if you have to.  The dog’s a bit more complicated, but based on the training you can chase it off with a good enough treat,” you advised, pulling from your own history of breaking and entering, “The security system is a bit more complicated.  Sometimes you can take a guess based on what buttons are worn down, but it’s a lot easier to just take off the face plate and cut the wires or short-circuit the board because newer models don’t let you keep punching in wrong codes until you fall on the right one.  I’d wager he’s been to the house long before he abducts these women.”

“He comes up with some ruse, talks his way inside, then once he’s familiar enough with the house, he knows he can kidnap them without disturbing anything,” Morgan agreed, laying out the most likely scenario in further detail.

“What about the people who come into your house that you don’t consider a threat?” Rossi focused at a very specific group of people as the suspect pool, “Home repair guys, dog-walkers.”

“Yeah, Detective Fordham looked into that too,” JJ cut in before the rest of you could go much farther down that road, “No one even came close to being a killer.”

“Okay, [Y/N] take Morgan and Prentiss, start with the last abduction sites, see if anything points to his M.O.  Dave, you, Reid, and JJ go back over the women’s lives.  Start with their friends on the social networking sites.”  Hotch split the team up, preparing to hit the ground running, “If this is how the unsub is finding them, maybe they’re connected to him without even realizing it.”

 

********

 

There were so many people at the precinct, even after filtering through the massive list of people the detective had trouble trying to figure out just who to bring in.  The members of the team that had started at the precinct had to further filter through before starting on family and significant others.  Through her questioning of the last victim’s boyfriend, JJ learned that the photographs of the victim and her boyfriend were in the wrong order and immediately stepped out to call you.

“Alright,” you placed your phone on speaker and held it in one hand as you pulled the photograph off the shelf, “Well hello…”

JJ recognized that tone in your voice, you’d just spotted something.

_“What did you find?”_

“He stuck something to the wall, or tried to at least.  Whatever it was is gone now,” you filled her in as you took a few educated observations, “Four points, small, he’d have a decent view of the doorway and the security console…”

“[Y/N],” Emily called from upstairs, the three of you had split up to search the house after you told them _specifically_ what to look for.  Little scrapes along windows where he’d stuck a small knife inside and jimmied the lock, evidence that the plastic cover of the security console had been removed and replaced, little things that could easily go missing when searching for signs of a breaking and entering.

“I’ll call back if we find anything,” you said a quick farewell before hanging up, placing the framed photo back onto the shelf as you tucked your phone into your pocket, black buckled heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor as you stepped around the bannister.  “What did you find?”

“Hey, I got one up here too, view of the second floor is unobstructed,” Emily filled you in as she carefully placed a decorative plant back into its spot as Morgan stepped out of the bedroom to join in on the conversation, leaning over the railing as Emily stepped half way down the stairs.

“Cameras,” Morgan voiced the conclusion you were all reaching, “That’s how he watched them.”

You huffed in thought, placing your hands on your hips.

“We need to find a camera shop.”

 

********

 

“This is what we think he’s using to spy on his victims.”  Morgan pulled the small camera out of the bag and handed it to Hotch to look over.  He’d called Garcia to look up a local shop that could supply the kind of camera you were looking for while Emily continued looking for spots the cameras had been hidden and you gave Hotch an update.  “They’re small, they’re cheap, and they’re easily hidden behind photos, books, or plants.”

“The footage you record can then be transmitted anywhere.  Website of your choice, even your cell phone, and he can toggle between cameras to see everything that’s happening in the house,” Emily finish, Morgan had returned and filled you and Emily in just before Hotch and Spencer arrived at the house.  There weren’t a _lot_ , and you doubted you’d find more, but now you had to look around the house to see just how the unsub was able to place the cameras in the first place.

Hence the genius now looking around the house.

Hotch looked up from the small camera in his hands, “And you found five of these in different points of the house?”

“Main hall to observe the door, one between the living room and kitchen, upstairs to watch the door and survey the second floor, bedroom, bathroom,” you listed off the cameras you’d found, almost expertly placed to survey the entire house with as little cameras as possible.

“A rouse gets him in the door, but it doesn’t give him enough time to put up five of these.”

“Right,” Emily agreed, Hotch’s point was something the three of you had already looked over, “that’s why we think he starts with one camera facing the front door.”

“He knows when it’s safe to enter and place the rest of the cameras,” you explained further, “He can see when she comes and goes, when the dog-walker arrives, and he can watch her put in the security code.”

“It fits his M.O.  If he learned their every detail on social networks, he will be _just_ as obsessive in his surveillance,” Emily added to the building profile.

“And once he learns their routine, all he has to do is pick the lock, put up the rest of the cameras, and boom.”  When Morgan put it that way, it was _terrifyingly_ simple.  “He’s got their whole life at his fingertips.”

“What does he do with the video?” Reid questioned from the kitchen as he continued to look around and observe what he could about the victim herself, maybe find some clues as to how the unsub got in.  “He keeps them?”

“If he’s a voyeur, yes,” Morgan shared his theory on the idea.

“Someone this obsessive, it would be hardly out of character to save them,” you turned and shrugged, hands tucked lazily into your back pockets and sleeves of your white cotton button-up lazily rolled up to your mid forearms.

“Voyeurs rarely become violent,” Spencer debated the idea, continuing to run over ideas as he thought aloud, “Their excitement comes from spying without the object without the object knowing they’re being watched.”

“And by abducting the victims, he’s removing the outlet of his sexual release,” Emily was briefly despondent as the closest thing to an accurate profile was just thrown out the window, “Reid is right.”

“But if he was just looking to break in and kidnap these women, he’d only need the one camera,” you voiced your concern with a deep breath, “Which means the cameras serve some other purpose.”

“He might be sharing the footage with other people,” Hotch voiced the worst-case scenario, “We need to have Garcia dig into surveillance in illegal video websites.”

“I’m gonna take this with us,” Spencer showed the four of you a photo that had been stuck to the fridge, one of the victim and her boyfriend.

“Why?”

“We originally there wasn’t any facial similarity between the victims, but I’m not so sure that’s true.”  Spencer furrowed his brow as he looked further into the photo, noticing small traits that the other victims had.

“This is another one of those facial symmetry mathematical facial mapping things the rest of us know nothing about, right?”  You weren’t even going to _question_ it, really, as you already expected that’s _exactly_ what it was.  Though, your question caught Spencer off guard as he looked back up at you in surprise.

“Know nothing about – [Y/N], you’re an artist.  I’m gonna need your help on this.”  That wasn’t _technically_ true, but you had an ability that would make the process much faster.

The ability to draw a straight line without a guide like you were just writing your name.  Spencer could send it to the guys back at Quantico, but asking you to do it by hand would be _so_ much faster…and also came with the side-effect of more time with you.

“Art _Historian_ , according to Oxford, most of the _functional_ art classes I took were in grade school.  Knowing that DaVinci used the _Golden Ratio_ and knowing anything about it are two _very_ different things,” you corrected Spencer on the exact _details_ of your educational history, something that had only _recently_ become just as critical as your career history.  “You can give me a crash course, it’ll be fine.”

“Woah, hold up, you went to – “ Morgan cut himself off, hanging his head as he let out a long and heavy sigh while Emily voiced the thought, borderline _fear_ , that was running through both her and Morgan’s minds.

“You ever get the feeling that one of these days they're just going to take over the BAU in, like, an afternoon?”

Hotch didn’t say anything, he didn’t _have_ to.

All he did was nod.


	63. There's No Need For Overthinking

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### There's No Need For Overthinking

 

“Okay, you don’t know what they are, but you know how to _use_ them?” Spencer teased as you helped him compare the victims’ facial features down to the minute details, watching you carefully use a pencil to sketch over the copied photographs you’d printed out for that very purpose.

“No, I know do how to draw a straight line though,” you teased in return, giggling when Spencer pouted in response, still leaning over your shoulder as you worked.  He could draw a straight line.  He was just a perfectionist, especially when it came to a case.  Just because you had some unworldly ability to draw a perfectly straight line in an instant with no straight-edge –

“You’re over-thinking again,” you brought Spencer out of his thoughts as you giggled, the two of you alone in the small meeting room the two of you were using while everyone else worked other leads on the case or, in JJ’s case, kept the media leaks under control.  Your giggles died down, but you had noticed something since last week.  “You’ve been doing that a _lot_ lately.”

You were _right_ , he _had_ been overthinking just about _everything._   He couldn’t exactly _help_ it, given recent events.  Your first date, over the weekend, would be something he remembered until the day he died – eidetic memory or not – but there was _one_ moment that stuck out.

_Spencer froze when you answered the door.  He couldn’t care less what you were wearing on a daily basis, to be honest, it wasn’t your appearance that he fell for it was your personality.  Still, you were breathtaking and that was most definitely a plus.  There was also a particular dress you had that he liked, and he swore you knew even though he’d never told you because you’d decided to wear that very dress.  That was sort of when it clicked, when it really clicked.  Sure, he knew the two of you were going out, he’d focused every spare second over the past week to make sure everything was perfect, that this was happening, but the reality hadn’t actually clicked until you answered the door._

_“Spencer…” you reached up to brush his bangs aside as the first thing you’d noticed was his har was very different from the last time you’d seen him just the day before, “I’m fairly certain of the answer but…you didn’t think you needed to do this for tonight, right?  Because, I’m going to be honest, I care far more about you than I do your hair.”_

_Spencer shifted through a few emotions as he tried to figure out how to answer.  Embarrassment, affection, anger at himself, a touch of guilt for thinking you’d actually care – it all stopped when you tugged on his black tie and pulled him down to kiss his cheek.  He saw your smile as you pulled away and he…swooned?  Was he swooning?  What is swooning?  He’s pretty sure he’s never actually done that before…_

_“You’re sweet, even if you do overthink everything.”_

You were still watching, patiently waiting for a response, when Spencer was brought out of the memory, standing upright to try and protect himself from…something.  From what, he wasn’t sure.  He was still so scared things wouldn’t…he had to be careful in how he answered that question, in case someone walked by the open door.

“ _Something_ happened and…if I don’t overthink things I’ll screw it all up.”

You looked up to see what the rest of the team was up to just outside the office before you once again tugged on Spencer’s tie and sat up in your seat to place a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“No.  No, you won’t, you sweet, stupid genius.”

 

********

 

Garcia managed to find the videos online, but there were complications – as there always were.  The unsub was bouncing his broadcast through multiple proxy servers, making it difficult for Garcia to track him down as quickly as she normally could.  Worst of all, not only was the unsub more tender to the woman after he strangled her to death, but he had an _audience._   There were people watching him _live_ through a chatroom.

As he entered Dorris’ house, he looked up at one of the cameras to _acknowledge_ his audience.  However, that left the question of what he was doing with the bodies after he took them.  It was risky to carry a body back to his car, someone as meticulous and organized as him had to know that, but that didn’t matter.

There had to be some sort of postmortem ritual or importance, which served as the cherry on the already shitty sundae.

Then there was the fact the unsub was most likely getting into the victim’s homes by pretending to be from their internet provider.  All of the victims used _different_ internet providers, and the companies contracted to do home repairs were all clean.

Garcia managed to locate the network the unsub was using in Boise, but it was the victims’ own wireless internet, so he lurks around in the victims’ network for at least a few days before the murder.  However, there was a little detail that _only_ Garcia would know about.  Hackers have a signature, an M.O. that they stick to, and if they’re comfortable enough to think nobody is watching they use that same technique over and over again.  Given the circumstances, it was safe to assume that the unsub was confident, so Garcia covertly flagged the same servers in Russia and North Korea that the unsub used as proxy’s, and if he used them again she’d find out immediately.

The problem was, that only helped if the unsub murdered someone else.

By the time Hotch was stepping out of the room the rest of the team was looking over the unsub’s recordings, talking to Garcia over the phone, you’d already tied your hair into a messy bun and stuck a pen into it as you used a laptop to superimpose a facial map over the photographs of the victims.  That pen in your hair was certainly safer than the paint brush you’d occasionally tuck into your hair when you were dealing with more than two.  You knew better than to do that, but if you got too focused on your painting, you’d just do it without thinking and Spencer wasn’t about to stop you, finding it far too amusing to watch as you realized you had paint on your neck.

“If he does stream this again, how much time will you need to find the network?” Hotch kept the conversation as private as he could, most of the officers in the bullpen were too preoccupied with their own work to notice.

_“Oh, uh…that – that’s hard to guess with all the international pinging.  I – “_

“Ballpark.”

_“Uh, seven minutes?”_

“That’s not fast enough, he’s in and out of the house in five.”

_“Oh no.  I’m going to have to trim my time down, then.”_

“Garcia, get it done,” Hotch was softer with his order than he was with the rest of you, hanging up as he spotted both you and JJ making your way around the office as you worked on your own parts of the case, “JJ, we need to call a press conference.  Now that we know how he’s killing these women, we need to get it out there.”

“Uh, alright,” JJ had stopped immediately and made her way over to Hotch when he called over to her, shifting gears as she ran through everything she needed to do, “I’ll prescreen the journalists I call on, hope we don’t get anything out of left field.”

When the two of you had solid proof that Spencer’s theory was right, he dashed out of the room to grab Hotch.

“I know what connects the victims.”

 

********

 

“I was staring at pictures of the victims and I knew there was a pattern connecting them, but I couldn’t tell what it was until I broke it down mathematically.  [Y/N] mapped out their facial structures, and from there we were able to find the similarities.” Spencer started off as you brought up the initial photographs onto the display, “Why are we so drawn to celebrity faces?  Because they’re a symmetry to their beauty.  The eyes, the ears, the ratio of the forehead to the chin.  The more balanced they are, the more appealing they are to our eye.”

“These women weren’t celebrities, though,” Detective Fordham questioned, grateful that the team was there, but barely able to keep up without the training and experience the rest of you had.

“No, but there are similarities between them, and it wasn’t until [Y/N] mapped it out that I had a full breakdown” Spencer answered quickly as you started fiddling with the laptop to follow along and show the rest of the team what the two of you had found.  ”Alright, strip away eye color, hair color, and skin tone, and what are we left with geometrically?”

“They’re all slightly dystopic,” Hotch answered as he saw the digitalized maps you’d put together, impressed you’d managed to pick that up so quickly but not _entirely_ surprised as Reid had been the one to give you the crash course in the first place.  “The left eye is slightly lower than the right eye on all victims.”

“All the noses are narrow,” Emily mentioned the first thing she’d noticed on the maps.

“The forehead has the same ridge,” Detective Fordham needed a moment to make sense of all the lines in a general face-like shape, but to his credit he made a good observation.

“Right, and the thing is he might not even _know_ he’s attracted to these features,” you stood upright from leaning over the laptop and delved further into the theory you and Spencer had developed, “Some studies indicate that we subconsciously pick our spouses based on a facial symmetry we recognize.  It doesn’t _necessarily_ have to be our own facial symmetry we recognize, but it is one that’s familiar and comfortable to us.  In this case, though, he sees this facial symmetry and hates it enough he has to destroy it.”

“Which means he only has need for the bodies as they relate back to him,” Spencer finished, opening up the floor for the rest of the team to propose ideas.

“Maybe…” Rossi grabbed the remote connected to the laptop that ultimately controlled the display on the TV, looking down as he searched for the right button to bring up the recording of the last murder, “They’re a reflection.  Remember what he did at the end of the video?”

“He wiped the tear away,” Emily observed after Rossi sped through the video and to the end.

“Another act of compassion he’s not capable of.  His narcissism prevents that,” Rossi continued, starting to put together the final piece of the victimology and M.O.

“In the Greek myth Narcissus was so self-absorbed that he fell in love with his own reflection in the water,” Spencer recalled the myth, one of many he’d studied over the years.

“Exactly, he finds women with the same face, he strangles them, and then he stares at them after they’ve died,” Rossi listed off the unsub’s method before cutting to the point, “But whose image does he really see?”

“His own.”

“[Y/N], put together a composite sketch for us,” Hotch ordered as he got up from leaning against the back of a chair, “We need to give the profile.”


	64. Watching The Watcher

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### Watching The Watcher

 

The unsub was keeping the bodies to look at them like a mirror, but that also made it easier for you to put together _something_ based both on the video – even though his face was covered in a ski mask – and the victimology.  You already had the basics covered, so it was only a matter of adding in a few details and some shading before making enough photocopies to hand out during the briefing.  That was the easy part, the hard part was convincing the locals that they couldn’t denigrate the unsub.  As hard as it was going to be, someone as narcissistic as this unsub was highly susceptible to _narcissistic injury_ , meaning he would lash out if he felt offended or attacked.

That didn’t stop the profile from leaking, no matter how many times the local officers were told not to do that, and the oncoming outlash from a reporter bringing up the theory that the unsub had a facial symmetry with the victims was inevitable.

Considering the unsub’s narcissism, it was nearly _impossible_ that he didn’t have something to notify him of any news regarding his exploits.

Hotch immediately called Garcia when JJ let him know that the profile had been leaked, Garcia needed to track the unsub, and _fast._

 _“Sir, it’s fantastic you called.  I just figured out – “_   Garcia started out ecstatic, but her mood was about to change.

“How are you doing on pinning down the networks?”

 _“Okay, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”_ She was jittery and excited.  _“Remember how I said he was spoofing his signal off different servers?  Well, it turns out some of those are a decoy meant to waste my time.”_

“So, does that mean you can find him faster?”  Hotch stopped pacing back and forth at this news, hoping he was correct in his assumption.

_“Totally, totally.  I can write a program that filters out the decoys – oh crap.”_

“Is that him?”  He knew it was, but he hoped…

 _“Yeah.  Uh…Okay,”_ Garcia was quiet as she mostly talked to herself and switched her entire focus from balanced between watching the unsub’s activity and her call with Hotch, to tracking down the unsub.  _“It looks like I’m gonna have to filter this on the fly.”_

“Can you send us the feed?”

_“I think I can intercept it in Ukraine.”_

Everyone else was already gathered in the conference room the team was using, waiting for Hotch’s next call after JJ filled you in on what happened during the press conference, but the way Hotch rushed into the room wasn’t a good sign.

“He’s going live.”

Yeah, definitely not a good sign.

You all leaned forward to watch the camera feed on the laptop of the TV screen, gathering what you could without even knowing where he was.

“The way he’s moving, he’s not slow and deliberate,” Rossi observed as the camera shook and rushed towards the front door.  “This guys’ pissed.”

“No shit, we expected that, does anyone have anything _useful_?” you snipped, frustrated that you were most likely going to be watching a murder _live_ on camera, a murder taking place in the same zip code, and there was _nothing_ you could do.

“A one-story cottage,” Spencer described the type of house, in some areas that could narrow it down to a specific neighborhood or street.

“That could be anywhere,” Detective Fordham shook his head, in just as much of a rush to figure out where the unsub was as the rest of you, even as the inevitable closed in.

“Is there a number on the house?” Morgan questioned, that could narrow it down quite a bit.

“No, and he’s already at the door.”  JJ was kicking herself.  All that work she’d done screening the reporters and carefully prompting the detective on what to say was undone because someone went and leaked the profile without caring about what it could do.

“Garcia!” Hotch called out to the technical analyst over speaker phone.

_“He’s using twice as many proxy servers.”_

“Wait, this window here in the bottom, is that the chat room?” Emily noticed something outside of the video, something that might be useful.

_“Uh-huh.”_

The camera feed switched to the one over looking the kitchen, where the victim was going through her fridge, likely looking to make dinner.”

“There she is…”

“He’s in the house, guys.”

“He’s completely changed his M.O.” Morgan sat back on the conference table as he watched on the TV, remaining focused on what he _could_ control, “It’s way too early, there’s too much light.  What happened?”

“Someone asked the wrong question at the press conference,” JJ snapped.  If she ever found the leak…

“Oh, my god, turn around.  Just turn around,” Emily prayed under her breath.  She hated this, just watching as there was nothing the rest of you could do…

“New kitchen appliances, we could track them through work orders,” Spencer suggested, hoping there was something that could get the team there in time to stop this.

“He’ll be gone by then,” Rossi relayed the bad news, consigned to the fact that there was nothing any of you could do to actually stop it in time.

“Garcia,” Hotch called again, “Get us something!”

_“I’m stateside now.  I’m almost to Idaho.  I just need more time.”_

“You’re not gonna make it,” Hotch tried to get Garcia to switch gears to something she could get done before the unsub cut the feed.

_“I just need more time.”_

“You’re not gonna make it – “ Hotch repeated as Garcia insisted that she could track down the unsub.  “Forget the unsub.  Can you run a trace on everybody in the chat room?”

_“I can’t do both, sir, let me do this”_

Hotch hated giving strict orders in general, but he especially hated giving them to Garcia.  She wasn’t like the rest of you, used to field work and trained to push everything aside and follow a direct order, but he didn’t have a choice.  “Garcia, tag the viewers.  That’s an order.”

The unsub was already strangling the victim in her kitchen, the view switching back and forth between the camera he was wearing and the one overlooking the kitchen.  Garcia was quiet as she switched her focus, tears running down her cheeks as the video of the murder continued to play on her monitors and the sounds of the victim’s struggle filled her office.  The conference room in Idaho was silent, save for the victim’s last choked breaths you were forced to witness because you couldn’t do anything about it.

Until you knew exactly where the murder took place, there was nothing else to be done.

 

********

 

It was after midnight, closer to one in the morning, when Spencer gave up trying to sleep in his own hotel room and grabbed his things and making his way down to your room, knocking on your door and waiting the minute while you unlocked the door and opened it, letting him inside.

“I thought we agreed this was a bit on the risky side,” you teased, keeping your voice down because Hotch’s room was _right_ next door, and shut the door while clicking the locks back into place.

“Yeah, I know,” Spencer shrugged it off as he placed his bag next to yours and sat on the edge of the bed, moving to sit at the head of the bed when you made your way back through the dim room and climbed into the bed yourself.  You didn’t even wait before curling up into Spencer’s side, half on top of him as you clutched at the t-shirt he was sleeping in.  He didn’t need to see you face to know you were sporting a pouty little frown as the events of the evening passed through your mind’s eye once again.

As he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, he knew you were strong.  He knew you could deal with the rough day all on your own, that you could easily take care of yourself.

He just…he thought you shouldn’t _have_ to.

 

********

 

The unsub had taken the cameras and the victim’s body, but he’d forgotten the Fiber Optics wire that gave him a way into the house, and the ability to stream large files to multiple computers.  Garcia had also finished her sweep of the chatroom attendees.  The majority of them were international, but three of them were local – _very_ local – and warranted looking into.  While the rest of the team were apprehending the local men who were accessory to the murder, you and Spencer were tracking down the source of the cable.  It belonged to a very specific company, according to the ID number, that none of the victims were clients of.  The woman you’d talked to, before you’d even finished a brief description of the man’s profile, had a name on the tip of her tongue.

_Mac Jones._

He’d been stealing and hoarding cables, claiming it was for a _home project_ , but after receiving angry calls that he was going door-to-door offering free installation of the fiber optic cables he was _immediately_ terminated.

“That was almost terrifyingly easy,” you admitted as you and Spencer shut the car doors behind you, Mac Jones’ information in hand, “What are the chances he remembers he left the cable behind?”

“It’s not _impossible_ , but I doubt it’ll happen,” Spencer thought aloud as he started the car, “I’m more concerned that he’ll decrease his cooldown period now that he’s been pushed.  We need to get Garcia to track him down before he kills someone else.”

“Assuming this is his real identity,” you brought up a point Spencer hadn’t even _thought_ about, but it made _too_ much sense to ignore.  More likely than not _Mac Jones_ wasn’t a real identity, someone with the unsub’s hacking abilities and highly organized nature wouldn’t take the risk of using their own name for _anything._   A suspicion that was proven back at the precinct, while Spencer worked with Hotch and Garcia looking for the unsub and you questioned the apprehended men that had been watching the stream.

 _“Mr. Jones had his identity stolen,_ ” Garcia summed up everything she had found by focusing on the most important parts, “ _The unsub took his license, took his credit card, used them for two weeks, and then moved on.  Now, I can’t tell you who the unsub is pretending to be now, but since a picture’s worth a thousand databases, I can tell you who he was.”_

The unsub’s mug shot slid onto the screen, showing Hotch and Spencer who they were looking for as Garcia continued her brief.

“ _Robert Johnson, tree-time loser, arrested for possession of torture videos.”_  She was still taking her online feud with the unsub very personally.  Good news for the team, _bad_ news for the unsub.  “ _Spent some time in a halfway house before he disappeared.  I found a blog of his online.  Here’s a quote – “next time you won’t be able to stop me.””_

“That’s his narcissism again,” Spencer mused, you deal with one narcissistic killer you’ve dealt with them all and they’re _always_ irritating in one way or another.

“Furious that he got caught and he remakes himself a killer,” Hotch thought aloud, in agreement, as he pieced together a way to try and _find_ the unsub now, remaining seated as Spencer got up from leaning forward against the table to lean back against a nearby set of file drawers as he continued building onto the profile.

“Which allows him to free the impulses that were always there – Garcia, is there a pattern to the identities he steals?”

_“No.  He’s really disciplined about it.  Once he burns through an identity, he never uses the same one again.  You know how I describe some suspects as being off the grid?  This guy is totally the opposite.  He’s all over the grid.  He’s manipulating the grid, and he never stays in one place for very long.”_

“So, how do we find out who he is now?” Hotch turned the focus to trying the find the unsub.

_“I don’t think we’re going to.  The man known as Robert Johnson is in the wind.  If he’s this flexible with his name, his real name, forget it.  But there’s another way we can find him.”_

“Which is?”

_“His online name, his hacker handle, that’s the name that matters to him.”_

“Wait,” Spencer cut in, “Won’t he have hundreds of those too?”

_“Most definitely, but remember how I said hackers are loyal?  They stick to certain names.  That’s how you identify yourself to other hackers.  That’s how the FBI caught me.”_

“So, if we find the handle…”

_“I’ll get you the unsub.  I promise.”_

 

********

 

It was a simple job, one any of the others could have done, but as you hadn’t been the arresting agent you didn’t have any sort of rapport with any of the men Emily, Morgan, and Rossi had taken in.  So, you stayed outside.  You watched, you listened, you focused entirely on reading the suspects while they were being questioned.  The man Morgan had brought in, Scott…something, was skittish and scared.  He had the computer skills, but he didn’t have the confidence, narcissism, Morgan was actively challenging Scott and the hacker just shook like a leaf.  He certainly wasn’t the unsub, not even _close_ , but he did have _some_ information.

The unsub wouldn’t accept anyone into his ‘club’ until he knew you’d fall with him, so he would give prospective members illegal files – torture and children – and only _then_ would he welcome the new member.  _Mutually assured destruction_ , a contingency plan in case he was ratted out.

The man Emily brought in was more confident, _macho_ even, and offended at the simple fact he’d been brought in.  It didn’t take long to figure out that was because he was being arrested by a _woman_ and questioned by a _woman._ He’d even had the nerve to call Emily _‘Mrs. Prentiss’_ instead of _Agent Prentiss._   You honestly thought Emily was going to throttle him at that moment.  You wouldn’t blame her.  _You_ wanted to.

He had some information to offer as well, though, as he’d told Prentiss that the video that night would be the _best one yet._   The unsub knew you were watching him now.  Now, as you turned your focus to the old man who just _didn’t fit_ and was _failing_ at convincing either Rossi or you that he was just an innocent old man, you’d have to wait for Garcia to track down the unsub’s hacker handle.

_Watcher 89_


	65. There's Always That One Suspect That Stands Out

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### There's Always That One Suspect That Stands Out

 

Mr. Chapman, the older man who had been arrested, didn’t have the same _collateral_ as the other two.  As Emily rushed out of the interrogation room to find Hotch and tell him there would be another video that night, you remained in the hallway outside the interrogation rooms, watching Rossi’s interrogation of the third suspect.  He insisted that after putting his grandkids to bed at half past eight, he and his wife were so exhausted they were asleep by nine.  He was destressed, aghast, insistent, his voice would change to a higher pitch repeatedly…too many signs and reactions to pin down a single profile that would fit.

He was hiding something, and it wasn’t that he really wasn’t _all thumbs_ with computers.

He admitted to recognizing a photograph of the unsub, made sure to insist that he was bad with computers by saying his son designed the company website, and then he chatted about appliances with the unsub before selling him some things, and that was it.  By the time Rossi had reached that part of the conversation, Hotch had joined you in watching – he’d been the one to ask you to watch – and you’d filled him in on what you were thinking.  The other two were small fish.  Worth charging them, but they’d already given everything they had.  Mr. Chapman was the one to focus on.  He was flustered, but for all the wrong reasons.  He had no illegal porn on his computer.  He was _insistent_ that he was bad with computers – which you were willing to believe.

“Do you believe him?” Hotch questioned, never turning his gaze away from the suspect as Rossi shut the door behind him.

“I believe he doesn’t fit the profile of the other voyeurs,” Rossi answered more specifically, further confirming what you’d already reported, “They’re good with computers.  They have hacking experience.”

Hotch turned and led the three of you out of the small hallway and back into the office of the precinct, “Garcia checked out the website.  She said it’s crude.  You can’t even order anything from it.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Rossi suggested something that could help put the pieces together, “Maybe the unsub used him for something else, used his network as part of his spoofing.”

“Someone as good with tech as the unsub would be able to use another network, one he could get his hands on without talking to anyone,” you poked at the hole in Rossi’s theory before trying one of your own, “We still don’t know what the unsub does with the bodies and the Chapman’s work with appliances, they could be related.”

Hotch didn’t have a chance to tell the both of you to keep working on it, for Rossi to keep pushing Chapman while you and Spencer worked on theories and connections, when the conference phone rang.  “Go ahead, Garcia.”

_“Watcher 89 – I got him.”_

“Does he have his own network?”

_“He doesn’t need one, he’s got a whole city to leech off of.”_

“He’s doing this again tonight,” Hotch warned Garcia to be ready to track him down at a moment’s notice, “Can you send me a list of networks he’s hacked recently?  Those are the potential victims.”

_“I got 20 hits.”_

“All right, filter out men and families,” Hotch walked through the victimology to narrow down the list, “He only kills single women.”

_“Eight left.”_

“Garcia, do you have any pictures?”  Spencer turned towards the TV screen temporarily connected to Garcia’s network, photos sliding onto the screen as Spencer focused on spotting one that was slightly dystopic.  The unsub was too narcissistic to change his victimology now, whoever the next victim was her left eye would still be slightly lower than her right eye.

“Her.  She’s the one.”

“You sure?”

You couldn’t help but shoot Rossi a look when he asked.  It’s like he didn’t even remember literally _everything_ that had happened since he returned to work.

“She’s the only one with facial symmetry that would appeal to him.”  Spencer thought nothing of it as you and Rossi sent each other slightly-judgey side-eye, for your own reasons.

Lucy Masters, the unsub’s next victim, was already missing when Emily and Morgan got to her house.

 

********

 

 _Watcher 89_ , Robert Johnson, whatever his name was he already had Lucy Masters and he was holding her – alive – as he streamed the video to his fanclub, allowing the team to watch.

“Garcia, the unsub is working off Lucy Masters’ network, can you tell where the video’s being transmitted to?”  Hotch was working quickly, ignoring anything that wouldn’t help get Lucy Masters’ back safely.

 _“I can’t tell.  He’s not logged in as Watcher 89, he’s not using any of the regular proxy servers.  If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t know that this was him.”_   Garcia was already frustrated before all of this started, now it was just getting worse.  _“Damn it!  He’s encrypted his connection to the proxies.  There’s nothing I can do to help you find him.”_

“What do we see?” Hotch turned the attention to the video, looking for context clues.

“Metal walls, meet hooks, a freezer?”  You looked at Hotch and Rossi over your shoulder.

“Garcia, can you magnify the wall behind her?”  Rossi leaned forward to watch the video on the laptop, you might be onto something with that freezer idea.

_“Yeah – yeah, I can do that.”_

There was _frost_ on the wall.

“[Y/N],” Rossi called for you to follow as he left the meeting room to talk to the only remaining suspect in the interrogation rooms, but you’d already slipped off your seat at the edge of the table and made your way around to follow.  Austin Chapmin looked up as he saw the two of you stepping into the interrogation room.

“We didn’t catch you by mistake, did we, Austin?” Rossi started, the two of you staying put by the door, blocking freedom and escape.

“You said the unsub liked your website’s design,” you started on him, throwing off edge as you quoted his last interrogation when you hadn’t been present in the room.  You stayed by the door, leaning back against it with your arms crossed as Rossi took a few steps closer, pacing the room while circling the suspect.  “He didn’t give a damn about your website, he was far more interested in your company’s services.  The repair work, the restorations, giving him a freezer to hide the bodies of his victims.”

“That’s not true.  _Talk to my wife_ ,” he insisted, “I’m home by six every night – “

“That’s the first thing voyeurs learn,” Rossi took a seat against the side of the table, further cornering Austin, “How to cover their tracks.  How to stalk between the hours of nine to five.  That’s why there was no porn on your computer.  You had something _better.”_

“This!” Austin had a short outburst that didn’t even _phase_ you or Rossi.  Between his years of turning the BAU into what it is now, and your previous – thought short – career mixed with the kinds of people your father associated with, a man slamming on the table wasn’t about to intimidate _either_ of you.  “Is a crime.  I would never do what you’re describing.  And even if you don’t believe me, my wife knows.  My kids, my grandkids.  I _hate_ computers.  I don’t even know how they work.

“Well, then let me give you your first lesson,” Rossi continued pushing Austin’s buttons, “When something goes out on the internet, it’s out there forever.  Now, you’re going to jail.  That’s a foregone conclusion.  But, unless you cooperate with me, I will do _everything_ I can to make sure that the next time your grandkids google you, they will find out what kind of a monster _grandpa_ really is.  Now – I will ask you _once_ – _where is the freezer?”_

 

********

 

The latest victim was rescued, the unsub was arrested, and the leak that had told local reporters about the profile had also leaked Austin Chapman’s involvement.  It was…it was a pretty typical ending to a case.  Not _bad_ , but not the _best_ considering you’d all _watched_ a woman be murdered just the day before…and it had been _exhausting_ on top of everything else.

Everyone had passed out as soon as the jet took off.  It wasn’t the _longest_ flight you’d been on, but DC was still a six-hour flight from Boise.  Even Hotch had decided to stop going through his paperwork and get some sleep.  You were still a bit groggy as you unlocked your apartment door, the short drive from the airstrip to your apartment hadn’t been enough to wake you up and the fact that the streets were _dead_ at this late time of night didn’t help much either.  You paused for a moment, in the middle of unlocking your door, before you felt a pair of arms wrap snugly around your waist as Spencer nuzzled into your hair and struggled to stay awake.

“You do remember your apartment is _closer_ to the airstrip, right?” you teased as you pulled Spencer into your apartment while stepping inside.

“I know,” Spencer admitted as you shut your door and locked it, “But I sleep better _here_ and I’ve got stuff here.”

That was true, after it became _blatantly_ obvious that the two of you were _starting out_ in a very committed place you thought it would be a good idea for him to leave some things at your apartment and for you to leave some things at his.  He honestly hadn’t thought of that, but agreed you had a point.  Though, now it was something you suspected he was going to take advantage of.

_A lot._

“Come on, sleepy head,” you chuckled a little as you made your way to the stairs leading to the balcony your bed was on, “Bed time.”

You were already convinced it was a matter of minutes until Spencer just _passed out_ , and frankly you wouldn’t be far behind him, as you only had the energy to giggle at the genius’ very tired, very failed, attempt at being enthusiastic.

“Yaay.”


	66. A Private World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some happy fluffy smut.
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, writing smut isn’t nearly as easy as writing the rest of a story – and the rest of it isn’t all that easy either – but I’m willing to bet this one chapter is the worst quality of writing in the whole thing. It’s just…I’m built for the story, the drama, creating the world.

# There Are No Ordinary Days

### A Private World

 

After that _hellish_ case in LA, it didn’t take much for Hotch to convince Strauss the entire team needed some time off.  It wasn’t a _lot_ of time, but a four-day weekend was always nice.  Most everyone was staying home, there was a _brief_ conversation about what you were doing but there was nothing of note.  Everyone was mostly _staying home._

Though…you suspected everyone else spent most of their time _out_ of bed, as opposed to you and Spencer.

You groaned as one of your phone’s started ringing – Spencer’s – and he was just as upset he had to move as you were.  You’d been curled up against Spencer for a while, you had a habit of wrapping yourself around him like a _spider monkey_ – his term not yours – but he was the one that curled himself around you and kept you tucked safely against him.  He was still a bit groggy as he answered his cell, lying on his back.

“What is it, Morgan?”  Spencer didn’t like being woken up.  He’d deal with it for a case, or an emergency, but goddammit he was _comfortable_ , he still had two days off work, the sound of rain tapping against the large window that dominated the outer wall of your apartment and the few skylights was so relaxing.  Then there was the fact that you were _right there_ in bed _with him_ and just as _completely naked_ as he was.

 _“We’re going out tonight.”_   Morgan needed something to keep his mind off the events following the case in LA.  The homicide detective that had been murdered with his sister, his daughter that was left orphaned and at the mercy of the foster system, the overwhelming guilt that he could have done something to prevent that.  You offered to help find the girl a home, you’d made a few contacts in the system as you went out of your way to find homes for the children victimized by the crimes you solved.  Morgan told you it would be okay, he’d work it out himself, but he’d let you know if he could use the help.

Penny had noticed Morgan needed a night out.  So, in true fashion, she intended on gathering the team, though both Hotch and JJ managed to convince the others that they just wanted to stay home with their kids and Rossi had just said he saw the rest of you too much as it was before hanging up, and taking everyone out for a night on the town.

“No.”  Spencer hung up and put his phone back down.  That was it.  End of discussion.  Sure, he’d let Morgan talk him into going out before, that was very true, but that was _also_ before you were _right there._

 _Naked_ and just as unwilling to go out as he was.

Again, sure, he wasn’t thinking with his _head_ , but –

You hummed in amusement as you lazily swung a leg over Spencer’s waist and sat up straddling his lap, your long hair draped over your shoulder and both hands on his chest.  “Morgan wants to go out tonight?”

“Mhmm,” Spencer answered lazily as he placed his hands on your hips and tugged you just a little bit closer, his eyes glued to the line of marks he’d left down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach leading to your core, his hands covering the ones he’d left at the crook of your hips.  To be fair, you’d left your own fair share of marks on his chest, and the scratches on his back stopped stinging but they were still a bit red.  The two of you had been spending the last two days either in bed, scantly clad on the couch, or throwing on just enough to answer the door when the delivery you’d ordered arrived.

“You seem pretty sure I don’t want to go out,” you teased only moments before your own cell rang, briefly catching your attention before you looked back down at Spencer.  He was _very_ confident that he was right.

“ _Do you?”_

You feigned a thoughtful pout before snatching your phone and spotting Emily’s name on the caller ID before declining the call and switching your phone to silent mode.  You considered tossing your phone over your shoulder, but you _really_ didn’t want to buy a new one and put it aside before settling yourself to drape yourself over Spencer, your chin resting on the backs of your hands as you looked up at him playfully.

“You are trouble, you know that?”  Spencer smiled as he moved his hands down your bum to rest at the backs of your thighs, thumbs gently rubbing at the soft flesh there, eyes glued to you as you bit your bottom lip and let out a little giggle.  He waited a beat, just a beat, before using his leverage to flip the two of you over and pressing his lips to yours in another heated kiss.  He knew you were doing that to goad him, you were purposely pushing his buttons, but he’d be doing this whether you teased him or not and he wasn’t in the mood to tease you back for it – _this time._

Spencer didn’t waste any time, choosing to skillfully fondle your breasts and flick at your nipples while he went _right_ down to your core.  You let out a high-pitched cry and tensed a little for just a second, your thighs closing around Spencer’s head as your hand delved into his hair.  You could feel him _smirking_ against you as you cried out again, and if you hadn’t been _asking_ for just this you would have slapped him over the head.  Then there was the fact that he knew what the _hell_ he was doing.  It had taken a bit of testing the _first_ time, but after that it was like riding a bike for him.  He knew everything that would get you off quickly, slowly, everything that would edge you –

Your hands were pinned down as you felt yourself reaching your climax, rudely ripped away when Spencer pulled back.  He moved back up to look you in the eye as you pouted up at him, your hands pinned by your head.  He gave you a peck on the lips.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he ordered, his voice barely a whisper as his lips brushed against yours, and for the first time since the two of you locked yourself in your apartment you didn’t argue.  You just kept your arms still, and let Spencer position your legs so one was bent with your thigh at his waist, and the other –

“I’m getting the impression you’ve never been with someone as flexible as me before,” you teased, as well as you could through your arousal and the coming orgasm nagging at the back of your head.  Your hands were still lying by your head, your leg still draped over his shoulder as he leaned down to kiss you once again as the head of his hardened member brushed against your folds teasingly as he positioned himself before pushing in.

_S l o w l y_

You keened, both out of bliss and impatience, and clenched your hands as you struggled to keep them still.  Even if you did reach out to Spencer, he was _just_ out of reach as he kneeled at your core and rocked his hips into yours.  Your breath was slowly replaced by raspy gasps until you began whimpering at the distance between the two of you, lower lip quivering as your eyes met his, the soft hazel shades almost completely hidden by dilated pupils focused _entirely_ on you.

Sex, even lazy and playful morning sex like this, was always so _intense_ with Spencer.  He had _quickly_ learned what made you tick and _immediately_ memorized it, his focus was _entirely_ on you, and it was like his normally racing mind hit an _immediate_ stop unless it had to do with _you._   That was a _lot_ of IQ points to have focused _entirely_ on you, and it was easy to find yourself overwhelmed and in need of _something_ to cling to – namely _him._

He let your leg slip off his shoulder and to his waist as he leaned over, hands entangling in yours as he kissed you deeply, your hips both moving in a slow and practiced rhythm as you lost yourselves in each other.  It wasn’t about the heat, the all-consuming passion, as it had been the night before.  It was just about being entangled together, comfortable, loving, lips moving languidly against each other in a rhythm that matched your hips.  Your shared orgasms built slowly, but there reached a point when you just needed that final _nudge_ and Spencer _knew_.  He reached down between the two of you, his lips carefully kissing and nipping at your sensitive neck as he avoided leaving any visible marks, rubbing and flicking at your clit to ease you over the edge into a slow and intense orgasm that entirely consumed you.

When you came back to reality, taking a deep breath as you noticed Spencer had stilled and his arms were now wrapped snugly around your waste as he nuzzled into the valley of your breasts.  He must have fallen into his own orgasm shortly after you.  His stamina was normally much higher, but between _just_ waking up and the fact you’d both been pretty _active_ since locking yourselves into your apartment, you were just as exhausted as he was.  You instinctively delved your hand back into his sex and sleep mussed hair and started lazily playing with it, causing him to hum in content against your breastbone.

“Shower,” he pulled away and pulled you up with him, “Come on.”

“Okay,” you smiled as you let him lead you down the stairs and to the bathroom for a hot shower.  No shower sex, not _this_ time.  Just a nice hot shower where he’d insist on helping you wash and condition your hair and you’d carefully massage the soap into his back and work out the tense knots that always seemed to return to his shoulders no matter what you did.

Spencer held you against him as the two of you began to settle into the walk-in shower as a stream of hot water spilled over the both of you.  He leaned over to press a soft kiss to your head as you nuzzled into him and the two of you swayed back and forth to a silent tune only the two of you could feel.  It was just the two of you, your cat as he started loudly meowing as his food bowl was only three quarters full now and Sardine thought he was going to _starve_ , and your giggles.  You’d have to go back to work, back to the rest of the world, in a few days but for now…

For now, the two of you were allowed to exist separately, just the two of you in your own private world.


End file.
